Vegas Lights
by AlyssaRuin
Summary: Joy and Pain. Love and Loss. Chickens and Asian Gangsters. Dentists and babies. A missing brother and an old love asking for a second chance. It's gonna be one hell of time. /tw: self harm, suicide, depression.
1. Note

This fanfic was written a fair while back (2016) by my younger self who drew VERY HEAVILY on the wonderful **Welcome To Sin City** by mario mm.

This fic was intended as a challenge to myself to finish a story as quickly as I could - pure fun and challenge. I used their story as a template to achieve this.

I also used it to work through some personal stuff I had going on at the time - so just a warning that things can get pretty dark in places.

It probably counts as plagiarism, and should I be asked to I will promptly take it down, but like c'mon, it's just a fanfiction.

Again, MUCH DIALOGUE and SCENES are going to be very similar to Welcome To Sin City because it's a good story and it was lots of fun to re-tell.

Hope you enjoy.


	2. The Old and the New

CHAPTER 1 The Old and the New

Wilma 'Will' Billings was incredibly late.

Bursting through the swinging doors, the young dark-haired nurse hurried across the hospital lobby, shrugging her cardigan over her arms and adjusting her half-zipped backpack on her shoulder, her converse skidding slightly on the polished floors as she came to a stop in front of the reception desk.

"You off, Billings?" the receptionist, a brunette with thick rimmed glasses, a coffee in one hand and a book whose author's name the nurse could not hope to pronounce in the other, asked with some surprise.

Will smiled breathlessly at the girl, taking the proffered shift-book and leaning over to snatch a pen from the desk. "You bet your ass I am," she said, signing off her hours and then handing back the folder. "You got Paul to cover my shift, right?" she asked as the receptionist took the book and threw it carelessly in a corner of her desk.

Leaning back in her office-chair, the receptionist glanced from her book for the first time and fixed Will with an inquisitive stare. "For your Vegas trip?" A thin eyebrow rose above the lens of her glasses. "I thought a _bachelor_ party was for bachelors."

Adjusting her backpack, the nurse's eyes danced with humour as she drew herself up and huffed with faux-arrogance, "Hey, I'm the most eligible bachelor around."

The receptionist scoffed and rolled her eyes good-naturedly, "_Right." _Shaking her head, her eyes slid back to the book in her hand as she reached out to bring the coffee to her pink-painted lips. "Say hi to Doug for me."

Will chuckled, pushing away from the desk, turning on her heel and making for the door. "Bye, Jeanie!" she called, waving over her shoulder. There was a half-hearted mumble in reply, and then she was outside, the Los Angeles heat hitting her like a wall as she stepped out of the air conned building.

She waved to several paramedics where they leant against their ambulances, wishing them a good weekend as she hurried past. Squinting in the sunlight, she jumped the curb and delved into the staff car park, her converse padding softly across the hot bitumen. The time on her watch caught her eye as she arrived at her vehicle, an old yellow Vespa she had had since high-school. It was looking a little worse for wear, but it suited her well enough.

She was busy strapping her backpack into the slightly rusted basket behind her seat when her phone buzzed in her pocket. Fumbling slightly, she pulled out receipts and her keys and wallet before finding the mobile and wincing as she saw the caller ID.

With a bracing breath, she answered, holding the phone between her shoulder and ear as she continued securing her belongings. Plastering a smile on her face she put on her happiest voice, "Hello!"

"_Where the hell are you?"_

Wincing at the less than pleasant greeting, she found her square blue sunglasses and put them on. "Stay calm," she soothed, adjusting the phone as she pulled the tie out of her hair, shaking her head and massaging her scalp. "I finished late, couldn't get away. But I am in the car park and am about to leave," she assured him. Pulling the hair tie over her wrist, she held the phone as she stepped up to the Vespa and swung her leg over the seat.

"_We're supposed to be leaving in like, twenty minutes, and Tracy says you have one last fitting, and then we still have to pick up Phil and Stu—" _her brother and best friend, Doug ranted into her ear, sounding appropriately stressed out.

Adjusting herself on the scooter, Will sat back in the seat and rubbed her tired eyes. Her entire body ached, and she wasn't entirely sure that she had put her shirt on the right way around in her haste to change out of her scrubs at the end of her shift. Honestly, all she really wanted to do was go home, run a hot bath and have an early night. And she couldn't do that if she were conned into going to a bachelor party. "Okay, look," she sighed. "I think it'd be easier if I just _not _go with you guys to Vegas."

"_What?! Will, no!"_

She huffed at her brother's cry, clipping the helmet beneath her chin as she slid the keys into the ignition.

"It's a bachelor party, it's a _guy_ thing," she argued, for not the first time. "You're supposed to get drunk, hire hookers and get arrested, _with_ _guys._"

"_No," _Doug told her, petulantly._ "You have to go. I want you to come."_

"But that's _weird_, Doug. I'm your sister; you shouldn't want me to come."

"_It's my bachelor party_," her brother sniffed, "_for _my_ wedding. And if say I want my sister to come to Vegas with me and celebrate, then you have to come._"

She groaned loud and long into the phone.

"Come on, it'll be great," he said. "You can hang out with me and Stu. And Alan will be there too. You remember Alan?"

She scoffed, "How could I not?"

There was silence over the phone, but he might as well have been there, staring at her with his baby blue eyes full of earnest hope. She was fully aware that he had purposefully avoided mentioning a certain fifth member of his intended party, which was decent of him, but also made it clear that he knew perfectly well the primary reason for her reluctance to tag along on his boys' night.

But spending the night in Vegas with her brother and her good friend would be fun, she had to admit. Even with Alan Garner, who she had met on more occasions than she honestly cared to remember, tagging along. It was Doug's _other _friend's attendance which gave her pause. Yet with her little brother making pleading noises into the phone and her own excitement at the prospect of spending the night in Las Vegas, on top of the absolute refusal to allow anything to ruin Doug's second-last night as a bachelor, let alone her own cowardice, Will had to concede defeat, with great reluctance.

"Fine," she sighed resignedly.

"_Good!_" he chirped. "_Now get on your scooter and get over here. You have ten minutes."_

"Yeah, love you too," she said. She hung up on his laugh, shoving her phone in her pocket and turning the key in the ignition, scowling petulantly as she pulled out of the car park.

Turning into the road, Will pushed her old Vespa to its limit as she sighed at the sky, hoping that this trip wouldn't be a complete nightmare, and doing her utmost to completely ignore the fact that in barely an hour, she would see _him _again. Her Vespa chugged unhappily beneath her as she glanced at her watch yet again, and nudged the accelerator. Shaking her head, the helmet heavy over her loose hair, she pushed such thoughts from her mind and focussed on her little brother and his upcoming _marriage_.

Taking the familiar route to her future sister-in-law's house, she pulled up the glaring white drive-way to the building which could not be described as anything less than a mansion. White brick, established gardens, a wrought-iron front gate. It certainly didn't hurt that the woman her brother would marry came from wealth. The Billings had never been in financial strife of any kind; their house was big enough and nice enough, but hell it was nothing like this. The Garners certainly had money to spare.

The young nurse parked and pulled the helmet from her head, clipping it to the handlebars and then hurriedly throwing her hair up in a messy bun with the tie from her wrist. The smell of magnolia and jasmine pervaded the air and she took an appreciative breath as she fetched her backpack, pocketed the keys and rushed up the driveway to the house.

Puffing slightly, Will bounded up to the front doors and found they were propped open. Knocking awkwardly on the fine dark wood, she stepped into the foyer and looked about for a familiar face. People milled about, carrying materials and cutlery and dishes and tables and enormous bunches of flowers. Will moved into the next room, glancing at the winding staircase and the rich paintings on the walls.

"Wilma!"

An impulsive cringe appeared on her face, and she turned to see an expensive red-haired woman striding toward her. Soft, wrinkled hands were outstretched in welcome, the woman's painted face filled with genuine warmth as she drew Will into a firm hug. "There you are, darling. It is so good to see you."

"Hi, Linda," Will greeted, her voice muffled in the older woman's pink shoulder as she awkwardly returned the hug, stiffly patting her back.

"Is that Will?"

They turned to see Tracy, Doug's fiancé and Will's future sister-in-law, in all her dark hair, dark eyed beauty, storming toward them like a freight train. Will disentangled herself from Linda and turned to greet her friend.

"Tracy, hey, sorry I'm late—"

She was cut off by Tracy snatching her wrist, tugging her roughly forward and hissing, "_Get in here_!"

Will squeaked as Tracy, with a death grip on her arm, dragged her through a thin white curtain to the parlour, which had been transformed into an opulent dressing room. Racks filled with dark-coloured dresses, and matching shoes, stood by the walls; tall mirrors had been set up around the room, and every available surface was covered with palettes and tubes of makeup, brushes and hair supplies, and jewellery. Half-naked women, most thin, tanned and beautiful, milled about, chatting excitedly, and Will recognised many as Tracy's friends and bridesmaids. Will dug in her heels, glancing over her shoulder to Linda with eyes pleading for help, but the older woman grinned mercilessly.

"Don't resist, darling," Linda chortled, giving Will a gentle shove toward the busy room.

"Come _on, _Will."

Her dark haired friend was visibly agitated, and Will couldn't blame her. The idea of being a bridesmaid for her brother's wedding was bad enough; she didn't even want to imagine what it would be like if it were _her _wedding. Will was dragged over to the racks, where her arm was released at last. She watched in strategic silence, rubbing her wrist as Tracy hurriedly searched the plastic covered gowns for the one with Will's name.

"Hey, Will," a high voice drawled. "Long time no see."

Will turned to see Christina, Tracy's oldest friend and the maid of honour, sitting on a sofa nearby, flicking through a bridal magazine and looking incredibly bored.

"Hey, Christina," Will waved sheepishly at the blonde bombshell. "How's it going?"

"_Here_."

Will blustered as a length of plastic and material was forcefully thrown her way, the wood of the hanger hitting her cheek. She caught the dress before it could crumple to the ground, and no doubt get her into more trouble. She felt Tracy's hands on her shoulders and obediently marched her way to the changing screens nearby, where she was shoved behind the relative privacy of the wooden screens.

"Strip. Put this on. Quickly," she was ordered, and then Tracy hurried away.

Will released a slow, deep breath, blinking as she slid the backpack from her shoulder.

"You alright, Will? You look a bit shocked in there."

Will cleared her throat, trying not to scowl as she looked to where Christina had poked her head around the corner of the screen and was gazing at her, a champagne glass held lazily between her slender fingers.

"Yeah, fine," Will answered the mildly concerned woman. "Tracy's really freaking out, huh?"

Christina's thin, arched brows rose and she nodded with a sigh. "You can say that again. I've never seen her so wound up." She shrugged, "But hey, it's not every day you're getting married."

"True," Will chuckled shortly, and then looked down at the dress in her hands.

"You need help putting that on?"

"No," Will said, too quickly. "Thanks, but no. I'm good."

She smiled tightly at the blonde, who nodded and returned the grin before giving a lazy wave. "I'll leave you to it, then."

Her blonde head vanished, and Will gave a sigh of relief, reaching out to adjust the screen slightly to ensure what little privacy she could, hung the dress on the top of the thin wood, and began to undress, wanting to get this over and done with.

"Hey, Will?"

She jumped as Christina's voice called to her, and looked to the edge of the screen but no head appeared. Grateful that the girl was respecting her privacy, she pulled the dress over her body, tugging at the dark sash at her waist with disdain, and adjusting the short skirt uncomfortably.

"Yeah?" she called to the woman on the other side of the barrier.

"Tracy said you're going to Doug's bachelor party—"

"Is she done in there?" Tracy's voice interrupted, and Will hurriedly reached back to zip up the dress.

"Yeah, almost, just—"

"What are you—?"

Will frowned as Tracy ducked around the wooden privacy screen and was suddenly beside her in the space between the barrier and the wall.

"Turn around," Tracy said, looking her over with appraising eyes. "I'll get it."

Holding her hair, Will let her future sister-in-law close the zip. "Thanks, Trace."

Tracy stopped and looked at her a moment before her stressed countenance broke into a smile as she took Will's hand and led her to a footstool by the windows at the far end of the long, opulent room.

"Get up there, you," Tracy said with a gentle shove.

Flushing to see that many of the other girls had left, leaving her as the last one to be fitted, Will stood stiffy atop the sturdy wooden block as an elderly seamstress with a hooked nose, salt-and-pepper hair and a sleeve full of pins, flittered around her. Tracy flopped onto the sofa beside Christina, who wordlessly handed her a tall glass of champagne, which she took gratefully. Will ignored the seamstress, as well as her own reflection in the mirror, not caring to see how her pale skin looked against the dark of the unappealing dress. A black bodice, deep blue skirt and a thick cream-coloured sash did not a gorgeous gown make.

"So, they're going to Vegas, huh?" Christina started.

Will sighed, shifting uncomfortably as the seamstress tugged at the skirt. "Yeah. And Doug says that I have to come, because it's his party and he wants me there."

"I think it'll be good for you," Tracy said, running a tired hand through her long, dark hair. "It'll be fun."

"It's a bachelor party," Will shook her head. "How awkward do you think it's gonna be when I end up in a strip club with my brother and his friends?"

Tracy huffed. "Well, that's all the more reason for you to go. Keep those strippers away from my man."

Will cringed, and then winced as the seamstress pricked her with a pin. She waved off the old woman's half-hearted, mumbled apology, and looked at Tracy with a long-suffering look that made the younger woman laugh.

"Oh, come on. It won't be that bad. _Sure,_ it's a little weird that you're a girl going to a party traditionally for guys," she conceded with a considering nod of her head. "But he's your brother. And besides, Stu will be there, and so will Alan."

"And don't forget_ Phil_," Christina sang, stirring the olive in her glass.

Will stiffened, hissing as the movement pressed her toward the seamstress, whose pin jabbed her hip. The older woman snapped at her, and Will flushed with a quick apology, silently cursing herself and struggling to keep her face impassive.

"Oh, yes!" Tracy giggled at her blonde friend. "Let's not forget Mr. Hottie McHottie."

"Ugh," Will cringed, trying to do exactly that.

"'Ugh'?" Christina gasped, and the two women turned to stare at Will with expressions of utter astonishment. "Phil Wenneck is the complete opposite of _ugh. _I mean, have you _seen_ those arms?"

"And those shoulders," Tracy hummed, sipping her champagne with a far-off look.

"And that hair," Christina grinned.

"And those _eyes_."

Will scowled as the two women slumped back into the plush sofa with dreamy sighs.

"You do realise you're marrying my brother tomorrow, right?" she dryly reminded Tracy.

The dark-haired bride-to-be shrugged delicately. "There's nothing wrong with looking."

"And how could you _not?"_

Will turned her back, her jaw tight. "Easily," she mumbled.

She tried to ignore the look that the two women shared; their reflections clear in the mirror before her. Tracy was shaking her head, and a sly smile was inching across Christina's face. Will frowned. The seamstress cleared her throat and Will nearly fell over when the old woman started adjusting the fabric near her ass. Clearing her throat and trying to suppress the burning red that filled her face, she focussed on glowering warily at the women in the reflection of the mirror.

"So," Christina chirped, ignoring Will's guarded scowl and Tracy's urgent head-shaking. "I heard from a _friend_, who heard from a friend, who said that you and Phil Wenneck used to be... well, a _thing_."

In the glass of the mirror, Will's icy gaze slid to Tracy. "Oh," she ground out. "Is that what you heard?"

Tracy laughed nervously, eyes widening as she raised her hands in a show of innocence. "Hey, don't look at me!"

Will continued to glare, and Tracy wilted beneath it until she at last mumbled guiltily into her glass, "Doug told me."

"That blabber-mouthed prick," Will swore.

"Wait, so what happened?" Christina gaped, leaning forward, no doubt thrilled to hear of the scandal.

"Chris—" Tracy's eyes were wide as she grabbed her friend's arm.

Will growled lowly, before taking a breath and clearing her throat. "The hell do you think happened?" she asked with a roll of her green eyes. "He dumped my ass. We were together, and then we weren't. I'm over it." She shrugged.

The seamstress stepped back and looked over the dress with a sharp eye, cutting in, "You've gotten thinner. I have to make some adjustments, but it shouldn't take too long." The woman gestured impatiently. "You're done. Take it off." Will nodded and made to step off the footstool, but the seamstress stopped her. "No, here."

Whatever colour had risen to her cheeks promptly vanished. "_What?_"

"It's so you don't dislodge the pins," Tracy explained, pouring herself another drink.

"Come on, Will," Christina laughed. "It's nothing we haven't seen before."

She didn't want to make a scene, but she _really _wanted to change in privacy, so that no one saw anything they didn't need to see. "I really don't—"

"Come, come, I don't have all day," the seamstress tutted.

Will forced herself to remain calm. She had nothing to be ashamed of. But even so...

"Fine." She cleared her throat. "Okay."

Will fought for calm as the seamstress unzipped her, and stepped out of the dress. The moment her legs were free, she strode toward the changing screens without a glance to any in the room. The chances that they noticed were slim, but her face burned as she dived into the privacy of the screens and snatched her clothes from the floor, nearly tripping as she tugged her shorts up her legs and threw on her tank top and long cardigan. Taking slow, deep breaths, she listened to the laughing voices of the girls as they thanked the seamstress. Will fumbled with the button on her shorts several times before it slid into place. Then she slipped on her shoes, fixed her hair, and stepped out with a smile on her face as if she hadn't been on the verge of a minor panic attack.

"Hey, what are we talking about?"

As Will returned to the sofa, she nodded to the seamstress, who looked at her with old eyes that stared in a way that told Will that the old woman _knew_, but she averted her gaze before the woman could express her sympathy or her pity or her disgust. No matter the reaction, Will was wanting none of it. Returning to the couch, Will smiled at the new arrival.

"Hey, Janet," she greeted the young bridesmaid.

"I was just saying," Christina grinned slyly at the young blonde, "that I can't believe Phil Wenneck and our dear Will Billings used to be an item."

Janet's face lit up, her blonde hair bobbing around her shoulders in heavy curls as Will's face fell. "Oh, I heard about that!" she giggled, as Will moved to stand behind an armchair across from the sofa, her fingers curling into the material of the seat. Her face was carefully blank, but strained, as she realised that these women were seriously about to have this conversation. "My friend told me," Janet continued, "that Phil never got over Will and _that's_ why he's such a major player. He's still totally in love with her!"

Will's face burned, her calm facade cracking as her nails dug into the back of the armchair. "Your friend is a liar," she said, trying to stay light about the whole thing, wishing that they would talk about _anything _else. "_That_ is a total crock of shit."

"No, no it's_ true_!" Janet crowed to Christina, clearly overjoyed to be the one to be privy to such information. "He goes with any pretty girl he can find because he can't fill the hole in his heart that Will left behind."

Tracy and Christina burst into laughter, falling against the pillows as Will was torn between having a full-blown aneurism and strangling the young blonde who sat and spoke of things she knew nothing about, and as if Will was not even there.

"You're out of your mind," Will snapped, glaring at them all.

"No!" Tracy snickered. "It makes total sense! Doug was just saying the other day that every time he sees Phil, without fail, he asks about you, and how you're going and if – oh my god, he asks if you're seeing anyone! He does!" she shrieked.

Will picked up a pillow and threw it, hitting the bride-to-be square in the face. Tracy squeaked, but it wasn't enough to stop her giggles.

"This conversation is over. That piece of shit does _not_ love me," she spat the word, her stomach twisting. What little tolerance she had was gone. This conversation was over.

"I think he does," Christina asserted. "I think he's madly in love with you but you're too proud—"

"—and stubborn," Tracy added.

"—and stubborn," Christina nodded, "to see it."

"Or _maybe," _Janet sang, her eyes dancing. "It's because he broke your heart all those years ago, and even though you still love him, you refuse to trust him," Her eyes narrowed playfully, and she spoke with a dramatic flair, as if she were telling some theatrical tale, and not Will's life. Will's jaw clenched, her body stiff, and now completely unamused, but they paid her no mind. "You refuse to hope that you two could still be together, even though somewhere deep down, you know that he's the _one_," Janet grinned. "And that's why you haven't dated anyone since. And that's why he hasn't stopped—"

They burst into giggles once more, but Will's facade had faltered, and there was nothing that she could do to hide the pain which flashed across her features, even as she struggled to repress it all. Tracy, though near tears in her mirth, caught this, and immediately stopped laughing, the amusement draining from her features in an instant.

A moment later, the others had taken note of their friend's silence and Will's unnatural stillness, and the laughter left them as well. And then the room was silent as they stared in growing dismay, realising too late that Janet might have been _too _right.

"Will..." Tracy put aside her champagne glass and started to stand as the black-haired woman's teeth ground together, her eyes cold as she stared into the far corner of the room, her breath uneven and her fists clenched as she sang curses in her mind.

"Oh shit, Will, I'm so sorry—" Janet apologised, stricken with regret. "I didn't think..."

Will stepped back as Tracy stood from the couch, raising a hand to stop her. After a moment, when she was sure her voice would be strong, she drew a smile.

"It's fine," she said, not looking toward the trio of distressed and slightly intoxicated women. "I'm just—I'm gonna go find Doug."

With a pat on the back of the armchair, Will moved to the changing screen and retrieved her backpack, before storming from the room, her shoulders tight. Behind her, Tracy and Christina turned on Janet, who protested and apologised to them in breathless whispers. "I didn't think she'd get so upset. It's been _years_, hasn't it?"

Will wasn't angry at the careless, oblivious girl. She was, however, absolutely _mortified _at her reaction to Janet's ridiculous notions. Janet was right; it had been years. She was beyond all of this. And Phil Wenneck meant nothing to her.

And by the time she had climbed the stairs and was making her way toward the partially open study door, through which she could hear her brother's voice, she almost believed it.

Hesitating at the entrance to the study, knowing Doug had been busy with his own final fittings, she knocked on the doorframe and called within, "Are you decent?"

"Never," came her brother's droll reply.

She smiled and shouldered through the door, just in time to see Tracy's brother, Alan, drop his pants to his ankles. And where there should have been a perfectly fine pair of briefs or boxers, the man had on a white jockstrap, which showed off the entirety of his pale, flabby backside.

"Holy shit!" She recoiled, holding up a hand as if to defend her eyes from the sight.

"Jesus, Alan," Doug cried from the far side of the room. "Put your pants back on!"

Alan Garner, her shaggy-haired, finely bearded, overweight and oblivious man-child of a future brother-in-law turned at her cry, an enormous toothy grin appearing on his face as he saw her in the doorway. "Oh, hi, Will!" he greeted cheerfully, as if he wasn't standing there before her, half-naked.

"_Why?_" she groaned, cringing as she stepped further into the richly decorated study. But even through her shock and mild revulsion, she found herself laughing as she moved to stand by her brother as he finished buttoning up his shirt. Will dropped her backpack by the large mahogany study desk. "That was unexpected," she muttered.

Doug cringed, his baby-blue eyes apologetic beneath his heavy brow, his dark brown hair tousled. "Is he gonna wear that the whole time?" he wondered as he nodded welcomingly at her, unbuttoning his white shirt.

"I wouldn't put it past him," she chuckled weakly, reaching out to pat his shoulder before looking about. "Where's my bag?"

"Down there," her brother nodded toward one shelf-covered wall. "You sure you packed everything?"

She picked up her duffel-bag from the foot of the bookshelf and placed it on the desk as Doug continued to change into his normal shirt and jeans. "It's one night, Doug. I think I'll survive."

"Hey, Will?" Alan called.

"Yes, Alan?" she replied, not turning as she unzipped her bag and sifted through the few things in there, picking up her backpack and unzipping it beside the larger back, sorting through both, switching and adding items, double-checking she had everything. Just in case.

"Have you decided yet?"

She sniffed in confusion, glancing distractedly at Doug, who shrugged helplessly and finished dressing himself.

"Decided what?"

"Whether or not you're going to kill yourself."

There was a long, heavy moment of silence before Doug exploded.

"What the hell, Alan!" the usually mild-mannered man exclaimed, his level-headedness going out the window as he glared at the man with burning blue eyes. "You don't just say stuff like that!"

Will puffed out her cheeks and subconsciously covered her wrist with a hand, shaking her head in disbelief as her brother turned his troubled gaze upon her.

"Was that bad?" Alan asked, sounding legitimately confused.

"You're damn right it was bad," Doug snapped angrily.

Will looked at the roof in wonderment in the same moment she reached out and rubbed Doug's tense shoulder. "It's fine," she assured her clearly distressed brother. Then turned to the short, round and heavily bearded man with a tolerant sigh. "No, Alan," she told him. "I'm not going to kill myself."

"Oh." The man frowned, but nodded. "Okay then."

Will nodded along with him, and squeezed her brother's shoulder as he glared heatedly at Alan. She knew he would have taken that thoughtless comment a lot harder than she had, and didn't blame him. But the guilt was there, insistent and spiteful. She looked away from Doug's face as painful memories played in the blue of his eyes, and her hand fell from his shoulder. Alan was apparently completely oblivious of the impact of his careless question, and so continued as if nothing had happened.

"Y'know, Doug, I was thinking..."

"Shocker," Doug grumbled, turning away and massaging his eyes as his face returned to its usual pale hue.

"If you want to go to Vegas without me, it's totally cool," Alan declared, standing pant-less before them.

Will returned to her bags, zipping both up but leaving out her phone and a novel for the ride. She leaned against the study desk, picking up a paper weight and playing with it in her hands as she looked to the irritated Doug.

"What are you talking about?" Doug sighed as he sat in an armchair and reached for his shoes, tugging them over his socked feet, laces still tied. Will shook her head disapprovingly as she saw them; he had never grown out of that bad habit.

"Well," Alan said, "Phil and Stu are your buddies, and Will is your sister and it's your bachelor party—" Alan shrugged sulkily.

Will looked pointedly at her brother, who glanced at her before drawing up a patient, if slightly forced, smile.

"Come on, Alan. Will and the guys love you," he told him, a blatant lie. "They're excited for you to come."

Alan sighed uncertainly, lifting his white shirt to scratch his hairy stomach. Will wondered idly why the man was still half-naked.

"I just don't want you to feel like you have to hold back because your fiancée's brother's there," he explained.

"It's not like that," Doug said, the epitome of patience now that the conversation had turned from the question of his sister's suicidal ideations. "I've already told you, Alan, we're just spending the night in Vegas. It's no big deal. Hell, even Will is coming with us, and she isn't even a guy."

"Yeah, so if anyone doesn't have to go with, it's me," Will declared.

Doug pointed a finger at her, raising his eyebrows sternly. "You're coming," he told her, and then turned back to Alan, "And so are you. And we're going to have fun. All of us." He huffed staunchly, "And besides, you're not just my future wife's brother... You're my brother now."

Will nodded, moving to stand by Doug where he leant with crossed arms against the front of the desk. "Yeah," she chuckled dimly. "You're family. So we're all going together, and no one needs to hold anything back. I mean, you're supposed to enjoy yourself. It's Vegas."

Doug nudged her with an elbow, "Y'know that goes for you too."

Alan's face cleared and he now looked elated, still standing tall in his jock strap, he beamed at the pair. Then licked his lips, glanced shiftily toward the door and took a step closer, his face suddenly solemn as his hands came to rest on his hips. "I want you guys to know," he said gravely, "I'm a steel trap."

Doug and Will shared a glance.

"What do you mean?" she asked.

Alan stepped closer, lowering his voice and giving his hair a flick, the intensity in his eyes unnerving. "I mean whatever happens tonight, I will never tell anyone," he told them. "I won't ever, ever speak a word of it."

"Okay, okay," Doug nodded with a baffled laugh, "I don't think we'll need that but—"

Alan stepped closer, uncomfortably close now, and his voice was a whisper, "Seriously. I don't care what happens. I don't care if we kill someone—"

"The fuck, Alan?" Will laughed, her eyes wide as she stared, unsettled, at the odd man. "We're not gonna kill anyone, we're just going out for the night."

Alan's stare was severe, "Anything can happen, Will. It's Sin City." He reached back and adjusted his jock strap, pulling it away from his ass and releasing it with a snap that made the siblings flinch. "I won't tell a soul," he breathed.

Will gaped wordlessly as Doug cleared his throat, "Okay, I got it. Thank you—"

"No," Alan interrupted, reaching out and wrapping an arm around each of their necks. Will leaned away but not quickly enough to escape the large man's embrace, and she was pulled against his hot, slightly sweaty side and held tightly. "Thank _you._"

Will pulled her hands away, not wanting anything to come into contact with _anything._ With her face pressed uncomfortably against Alan's shoulder, she couldn't see her brother, but imagined he was feeling no less relaxed.

"I love you so much," Alan breathed.

"Oh, god." She squirmed in his clammy hold, her voice strained.

"Just let it happen," Alan sighed.

"_Oh, god."_

/

Duffel-bag in hand, Will trotted out the front door of the Garner's house, nodding to a passing caterer as she made her way to the garage, where she could see Doug talking to a familiar older man.

"We getting out of here?" Will asked eagerly as she approached, looking up at the cloud-less sky and the sun that was reaching midpoint. Tracy's stern-faced but golden-hearted father, Sid, nodded to her from where he stood with Doug by the open garage door. She adjusted the duffel-bag on her shoulder and smiled at the men.

"Will," Doug beamed, rocking excitedly on his heels. "Sid's lending us the Mercedes for the drive."

"Are you serious?" she gawped, dropping her bag beside Doug's, throwing her novel on top.

"Of course!" Sid jingled the keys temptingly before them. "You're family now."

"Are you _sure?"_ Doug asked, glancing at Will. "I mean, you love this car."

Sid rolled his eyes, chuckling, "Doug, it's just a_ car_." He patted the bonnet fondly for a moment, and then added, "Just make sure when you get there to put some Armor All on the tires so the sand doesn't seep in."

Will and Doug shared an amused look.

"Absolutely," Doug nodded, chuckling slightly. "That's easy."

"Don't you worry, Sid. We won't let anything happen to it," Will promised, cleaning her sunglasses on her shirt.

"Good," Sid nodded shortly, and then looked past them, eyes narrowing. "Oh, and don't let Alan drive."

They followed his gaze to see Alan sitting by Tracy's Jeep, crossed-legged and making kissy faces to the Garner's golden Labrador as it licked the entirety of his bearded face. Will and Doug grimaced in disgust and Sid shook his head. "There's something wrong with him." As they watched, Alan poked out his tongue, scratching the dog behind the ears as he began to lick it in return.

Sid sighed and turned away from his odd son. "Oh," he added, "and Phil, either. I don't like him."

Will snorted approvingly at the old man as Doug rolled his eyes but assured him, "I will be the only one driving this car. I promise."

After a long, solemn look, Sid nodded and threw him the keys, which Doug fumbled with but caught. Beaming with anticipation, Will picked up the two bags by the garage door and heaved them to the back of the car. Sid leaned into the convertible to pop the trunk and she tossed the backs within, leaving it open for Alan.

"Remember that what happens in Vegas stays in Vegas," Sid told the pair, who grinned and laughed, until he amended seriously, "Except herpes. That shit will come back with you."

With high brows, Doug glanced at Will, who only shook her head and patted his shoulder as they chuckled at their future father-in-law.

"Are you guys off?" Linda and Tracy met them on the driveway.

"Just about," Doug said, moving toward his fiancée and planting a kiss on her smooth cheek. Will watched them melt into each other, their eyes shining as they smiled like two fools in love, and her heart felt full to see her brother so happy.

"Alan!" Linda called to her son. "Have you put your bag in the car?"

"No, Mother," Alan huffed rudely as the dog abandoned him in favour of rushing over to sniff at Sid's hand. "I was _busy_ saying goodbye to Bubba."

"Okay, darling," Linda said, looking concerned as Alan clambered awkwardly to his feet and marched up the driveway, his chin high as he scoffed indignantly at his mother.

Linda sighed, clutching the pearls at her neck, and then turned to Will with a long breath, opening her arms and scooping the younger girl into a hug. "Have fun," she told her, squeezing tightly and rubbing her back. Will patted her and made a sound of acknowledgement, still finding it strange to be hugged without inhibition by someone who wasn't Doug. "And please," Linda murmured, "look out for Alan for me. Keep him out of trouble."

Linda released Will with a warm smile, and the younger woman nodded obligingly. "I'll try."

Tracy laughed and stepped up to her friend, "Mum, they're going to _Vega_s. If they don't get into trouble, they're doing it wrong." Her mother sighed fondly and rolled her eyes, moving away to say her goodbyes to Doug.

Tracy and Will smiled at each other and embraced, rocking slightly. "Have an amazing time, okay? And don't let Phil get to you. You deserve this."

"Thanks, Trace."

Will's breath was suddenly forced from her as a heavy hand thumped her back, and she pulled away from Tracy to see Sid staring down at her, looking severe. He pulled something from his pocket and pressed it subtly into her hand.

"Keep this with you at all times. Use it."

Looking down, she saw that he had given her a small black can labelled 'Pepper Spray'. Her eyes widened in alarm, but she nodded gratefully, "Thanks, Sid."

The older man nodded, thumped her back again, and then moved off without another word.

Will pocketed the pepper spray, hoping that she wouldn't have to use it, but grateful for Sid's thoughtfulness. It was nice to know that he cared. Smiling gently to herself, she made for the car, and saw Alan slamming the trunk of the car shut, before his eyes met hers and he suddenly screamed, "Shotgun!"

Will watched in stunned amusement as the short man stumbled around the car and all but dived in, strapping himself in and then sitting back, looking up at her with an enormous triumphant grin. She stared at him for a moment, before snorting a laugh and hopping in the back.

Placing the novel on the seat beside her, she relaxed into the smooth leather seat with a happy sigh, before glancing at her watch and pulling on her seatbelt. Leaning to see around Alan's large, curly head, she saw Doug and Tracy wrapped up in each other, clearly prolonging their parting for as long as possible. Will grinned and stuck out her tongue, adjusting her sunglasses as she leant back, stretching one arm over the back of the seat and the other over the top of the door, patting the outside metal loudly.

"Yo, Doug!" she called. "Get your short white ass over here. Let's go!"

"Yeah, Doug." Alan quickly joined in. "Let's go!"

Will snickered, grinning innocently as her brother shot them a foul look. She looked away as the bride and groom-to-be kissed and separated at last. Doug nodded to his future in-laws and then hurried over to the Mercedes, smiling excitedly as he slid behind the wheel and started the engine.

They rolled down the driveway and pulled out onto the street, and Will turned and waved to her future family with a grin, her heart pounding with emotion as they waved back. Sitting straight in her seat, she matched Doug's grin as their eyes met in the side-view mirror, and she knew her brother had the same thought as she; it was nice to have a family again.

/

The Mercedes hummed through the leather seats, the LA sun warm on her skin as the cool air breezed through her hair. Will lounged like a cat, her legs stretched across the back seat and her face upturned to the clear blue skies, her eyes closed behind her blue sunglasses as she listened to the song on the radio and imagined Vegas.

Deep in her thoughts, Will felt the car slow and turn, pulling up the curb before it rumbled to a gentle stop. Blinking lazily, Will raised her head and saw a large red sign that labelled the establishment as Harrison High. Whatever excited, relaxed state she had been lulled into during the drive dissipated like water on a hot stove as the familiar name clicked in her mind, and she sat up as her eyes moved to stare in absolute dread at the red-bricked school. Oh. _Shit._

"Phil said he'd meet us out here. He shouldn't be too long," Doug said, turning off the engine.

Will cleared her throat and shifted with a grimace, but was determined to stay cool. She knew that if she could start this trip totally calm and collected in the face of her past, then she could survive the rest just fine. Even so, her hands trembled as she sat up in her seat, touching her bottom lip as her elbow rested on the door, over which she stared, in the opposite direction of the school, her other hand fingering the bent corners of the closed book in her lap.

She heard Alan release an unhappy breath. "You have to park so close?" he demanded.

Doug caught Will's eye in the rear-view mirror, the one glance enough to express a conversation-worth of confusion, wry amusement and wary interest.

"Yeah," Doug answered. "What's wrong?"

Alan huffed, adjusting his glasses and covering his face with one hand. Will frowned.

"I shouldn't be here," he grumbled.

"Why is that, Alan—?"

"I'm not supposed to be within two-hundred feet of a school," he explained in a rush.

Will gaped in alarm, sitting up. Doug mirrored her expression. "_What?_"

"Or a Chuck-E-Cheese," Alan mumbled, sinking down in his seat.

Will looked at her brother with vaguely disturbed and quizzical eyes, mouthing _'What the fuck?_' But Doug could only shrug, looking just as surprised as she. Will sat back, blinking and eyeing Alan warily.

Her heart leapt in her chest as the school bell sounded, and a minute later, children began streaming out of the front doors. Clearing her throat, Will sank down into the seat, losing her cool as she opened her book and tried to look as distracted as possible.

She heard Doug shift in his seat in front of her a few moments later, turning the radio down as he announced, "There he is."

Will pressed herself against the car door and made a conscious effort to just _breathe._ It wasn't like she hadn't seen him since it all went down, it had been _years, _and she had survived every other awkward, uncomfortable and otherwise torturous encounter during that time. But he would be sitting right _there_, for _hours. _Happening to see someone across the room, and having to sit in close proximity to that same someone, were two very different things. It had been just as many years since she had been anywhere near so close to him.

"You alright, Will?" Doug's quiet voice reached her ears.

"Shut up," she grumbled, turning yet another page she hadn't read. She was fine. She could do this.

"Hey, Mr Wenneck—!" a young voice called.

"It's the weekend, Budnick," she heard his voice snap, as abrupt and dismissive as ever. "I don't know you. You do not exist." The sharp, confident tap of fine leather shoes stopped meters from the car, and Will heard a laugh that made her stomach lurch in the most unpleasant of ways. "Shit! Nice car."

Will ducked her head, trying to disappear into the upholstery and seriously considering jumping out and sprinting off down the road. Alan waved enthusiastically as Doug grinned and laughed happily as Phil approached. She caught sight of him in the corner of her eye, in the same moment that he saw her. He stopped short, standing by the car door as he stared in blatant astonishment through shining aviators.

"Holy _shit_," he said. "Is that Will?"

She drew a sharp breath and shut her book.

"You actually convinced her to come along—you're actually coming?" he asked, sounding simply astounded as she slowly released her breath, closing her eyes a moment and envisioning herself as the epitome of composure and control, before she turned to look at him, her guarded eyes hidden behind her dark shades.

Her heart stuttered, backfired and simply ceased to be as her breath caught in her throat. Phil Wenneck looked as good as she remembered. Better, even. In a light blue shirt, dark slacks, grey vest and a tie, the man could have stepped straight off a photo shoot. His brown hair was long and tousled, swept back off his handsome face, a few strands floating lightly in the breeze. The idea that he could have spent an entire day in a hot classroom, teaching history to a bunch of snotty teenagers, and still walk out looking like a Vogue model, was disgusting. The fact that he had only grown more attractive with age was even worse.

Will wanted to vomit and die, but she instead clicked her tongue and raised a brow, every fibre of her being focussed on appearing as nonchalant and unaffected as humanly possible.

"Looks like it," she shrugged, glancing at Doug, whose wide eyes flickered between them nervously. Keeping her eyes on her brother, she sniffed impatiently as Phil continued to stand and stare, his quiet, intense gaze doing nothing to help her calm. "You getting in or what?" she snapped.

After a long beat, Phil's face broke into an enormous, heart-wrenching smile, and he threw his bag onto the seat beside her before leaping up and over the door — a move which sparkled vehement protests from Alan and Doug –, dropping heavily onto the seat opposite, the force of his landing making her bounce and flush embarrassedly.

Unconsciously pressing further against the door as his legs stretched out before him, his shoes brushing her calf while his arms stretched along the back of the seat, and reaching the length of the door. His hand was close enough to touch her shoulder should he so wish. She heard him scoff as Doug and Alan continued to gripe at him. "Oh, just shut up and drive before one of these nerds asks me another question."

Doug shook his head exasperatedly but started the engine. "Animal," he grumbled. Alan let out a sulky breath but turned in his seat to stare.

Phil just grinned, apparently in a great mood, as he glanced at Will, who had abandoned her book in favour of staring pensively into the distance, her face burning as the man's legs further invaded her space. She turned her face fully away, resting a hand over her mouth and trying to ignore him.

"Who's this?" she heard him ask as Doug pulled away from the curb.

"It's Alan," Doug said. "Tracy's brother."

"I met you like, four times," Alan said petulantly.

"Oh, yeah," Phil nodded with clearly no memory of him. "How you doin', man?"

Will scoffed softly and met Doug's eyes in the side-view mirror. He raised an eyebrow and she gave a small shake of her head.

"So. Will," Phil spoke up a few minutes later.

Will chewed the meat of her cheek and steadied herself where she sat in her seat, as far from him as possible; her legs tightly crossed to avoid touching his feet as his legs stretched across to her side of the car, while she watched the cars and houses as they passed them by.

"I haven't seen you in forever. You're, uh—You're lookin' good. How are you?"

"Fine," she answered shortly, after a long pause, her chest tight. She cleared her throat as she saw Doug watching her carefully in the side mirror. "And you?"

"Yeah, things—things are pretty good," he said, too chirpily. She felt him shift in his seat. "What about you? How are things at work—at the hospital?"

She made a strangled sound as her head ground around on its axis to gape at him, her hair whipping across her face as she sat, aghast in wonderment of how it could possibly be that he knew about her work. Phil stared back through his aviators, his head slightly tilted in puzzlement, his long hair tousled in the wind, when she suddenly caught the guilty rise of Doug's shoulders. Will turned her heated glare to the back of her brother's head, outraged and mortified that he had dared tell Phil Wenneck _anything _about her, her job or her life.

"It's fine," she snapped through gritted teeth, glowering at the dark windswept hair of the traitor in the front seat, silently wishing for it to catch alight and burn her stupid brother's head right off. "Work is fine. I'm fine. Everything is _fine_."

"That's good," Phil nodded stiffly, clearing his throat. "That's—It's good that you're fine. I'm glad."

She growled lowly under her breath, feeling more herself with her anger, and slid her glare back to the road and the passing cars. Phil sighed beside her. An uncomfortable silence fell over them. Alan hummed obnoxiously to himself, and Doug turned up the radio as they sped down the highway beneath the mid-afternoon sun.

/

Stuart Price's garden was disgustingly green.

"Look at that fucking grass," Will grumbled to Doug, who shook his head as he pulled the silver Mercedes up to the curb. Alan looked between them in confusion before turning and dropping his glasses, squinting at the grass as if it had a secret to tell. "It's fucking summer. Can you believe this shit?"

Doug scoffed, "You really think _Melissa _would let her grass go brown?"

"Anal bitch," she muttered.

"This entire street is so fuckin' suburban," Phil groaned, looking around in disgust. "I can't believe he's seriously still with that whore."

"Didn't she screw a scuba instructor?" Doug wondered aloud.

"It was a bartender on a cruise," Will corrected with a disgusted curl of her lip.

"Whatever," Phil shook his head and slapped the back of the seat impatiently. "Where the hell is he? Let's get this show on the road!"

They glanced up at the house and its white columns and tall windows, as Doug beeped the horn twice. They waited a solid minute, with no sign of Stu, before Phil shook his head with an irritated huff, cupped his hands around his mouth and shouted with all his might, "PAGING DOCTOR FAGGOT!"

He dropped his hands, snickering to himself, and glancing at Doug who was laughing into his fist, and then to Will, who had covered her mouth her hand and was torn between dying of mortification and cracking up herself. Blue eyes gleaming behind his aviators, Phil cackled, and turned back to the house, cupping his hands once again, "_DOCTOR FAGGOT!_"

"Phil!" Doug reached over and smacked his arm to shut him up, but couldn't smother his own amusement. Alan was lost in his giggles.

As unorthodox as it was, it worked. Only a few minutes later, the tall, lanky form of Stuart Price appeared at the front door, and they watched as he stepped out, dragging a small suitcase behind him as he turned and spoke to someone – presumably his girlfriend, through the open door, which was slammed firmly shut in his face only a moment later. Stu stumbled back, and then righted himself, adjusting his thin glasses on his face, and then marched down the stairs toward the Mercedes. He greeted them with a glare.

"Hey, sweater-douche," Phil chuckled, eyeing at the sweater tied loosely around Stu's neck with open distaste. "Your girlfriend buy you that?"

"As a matter of fact," Stu snapped, "she _did. _It was a birthday present."

"It's fuckin' hideous," Phil stated with a scornful laugh, "Take that shit off. And burn it."

"Hey, Stu," Will chirped to her offended friend, jumping in before anyone else could say anything stupid.

The tall man huffed, but his dark blue eyes lit up as they slid to her smiling face, forgetting his anger for the moment. "Will?" he said with surprise. "You're coming with?"

She shrugged with a smile, "You think I'd miss a chance to hang out with my favourite doctor?"

Phil scoffed and let out a short, obnoxious laugh. "Oh please, he's a fuckin' dentist."

Will sneered at the sheer rudeness of the man, as Stu rolled his eyes, and Doug popped the trunk for Stu to throw his bag in. Will heaved Phil's leather bag from the seat beside her and slid it across the back of the car, "Hey, put this in while you're at it."

Once the bags were in place, Stu came around to her side and stood by the door, looking at her pointedly.

"Oh, no way," she said, "I was here first. You get middle seat."

He scowled at her. "Are you kidding me? I'm like double your height—"

"Would you just get in the car?" Phil snapped. Doug chuckled from the front seat.

With a lot of moaning and groaning, Stu folded himself into the middle seat of the car and strapped himself in, with Will sitting happily squished between his shoulder and the car door, overjoyed that she had conned her way out of sitting next to Phil.

Movement in the window of the house caught her eye and she nudged Stu, "Hey, wave goodbye to your psycho girlfriend."

"She's not psycho," he protested, and they watched as he raised a hand and waved happily to the thin, sharp-edged woman, who stood in the window with a mug in her hands, unmoving. In fact, Will was pretty sure that she could feel the woman's heated glare from where she sat. After a moment, Stu's hand dropped, his face falling.

"_Right,"_ Will drawled disbelievingly as Stu sat back dejectedly in his seat.

"Let's just go," he sighed, and Doug started the car and pulled away from house, speeding off down the street.

"Hey, cheer up, bud," she said. "In a couple o' hours we'll be in _Vegas_, and you can have any girl you want."

"_Please_," Stu scoffed.

"No kidding!" she cried. "Crazy shit happens in Las Vegas." She gripped his shoulder and gave it an excited shake. "I mean, who knows? You might wake up tomorrow married to a stripper." She fell back, cackling to herself as Stu rolled his eyes but relaxed against her with an amused snigger.

"Hey, so could you," he retorted, and they dissolved into laughter.

They slouched back in their seats, chatting happily as the radio blasted, the wind whistled through their hair, and Doug turned the shining silver Mercedes onto the highway. And just like that, they were headed to Vegas.


	3. Road Trip

"Holy shit, Alan!" Will shouted, laughing unevenly as she leaned forward to tug at the man's shirt where he stood, clutching the windscreen and screaming into the wind.

"WHOO! ROAD TRIP!"

"Alan! Sit down!"

Stu chuckled, pulling her back into her seat. "Leave him, Will. He'll be fine."

"He's gonna die," she laughed nervously, taking another swig of her rapidly warming beer.

Stu scoffed a dry laugh, "With any luck."

Will snorted and hit his arm. They watched with amusement as the hairy man turned to the car next to them, screaming jubilantly at a young girl in the back seat, who stared steadily at the excited man.

"HA HA! VEGAS! VEGAS BABY!"

With slow, deliberate care, the young girl raised her hand, and then flipped him off, her face perfectly passive, and yet filled with the cruel, merciless judgement of a child. Will sniggered as Alan slid back into his seat, his face falling as he pouted.

Laughing, Doug reached out a hand to rub the petulant man's back comfortingly. "Cheer up, bud. The girl was a total bitch."

The three in the back seat chuckled in agreement. Will returned to watching the road, as dull as it was. The wind and the music and Stu's sweaty form pressed so closely against her had proven too much of a distraction for her novel, so she sat and tapped her fingers on the door to the beat of the music, taking slow sips of the bitter beer she had reluctantly accepted from a silently offering Phil.

But the man had not been silent since.

"Come on, let me drive!" he plead, to an unyielding Doug. "Just til Barstow, everybody's passing us!"

"Absolutely not," Doug said, not for the first time. "I promised Sid I will be the only one driving this car." He shook his head exasperatedly, "Besides you're drinking—"

"Oh, what are you, a cop, now?" Phil scoffed, waving his beer around, staring earnestly at the back of Doug's head. "Come on, you know I drive great when I'm drunk."

Beside her, Stu nodded, "That's true. Don't forget, Phil was always our designated drunk driver."

Will scoffed a laugh. "Oh yeah, cause that always went so well," she said, her voice dripping with sarcasm.

"Uh, excuse you," Phil leaned around Stu to scowl at her, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips as she stared at him impassively. "I am an _incredible_ drunk driver."

"Uh huh," she found herself sniping back sardonically. "Iclearly remember having to call my parents to come and pick up me and Doug from the police station _at least _five times."

He fixed her with a look of stubborn denial, his eyes roaming her features as she raised her brows and waited for his reply.

"What was the fifth time?" he finally demanded, and she turned away from him with a mildly amused shake of her head. Phil sat back with a distracted huff and took a long swig of his drink, before taking a deep breath and starting again, "_Doug—"_

"No," Doug said, and then glanced to the side. "Look. You wanna explain it to them, Alan?"

Alan peered over his shoulder and said in simple terms, "You guys, my dad loves this care more than he loves me. So, yeah."

"Awww," Will crooned sympathetically, giggling into her beer.

"Oh, whatever!" Phil cried. "Look, I skipped out on a school trip with my students so I could come with you guys to Vegas. I love those kids like my own. You know how difficult that was?" he asked Alan, leaning forward and smacking his shoulder with the back of a hand. Stu rolled his eyes at Will, and she watched Doug smirk in the side-view mirror.

Alan turned in his seat to stare at Phil, clearly touched, "That was really sweet, Phil."

"Yeah," Doug scoffed.

Phil blinked at Alan and tilted his head mockingly. "Dude, I was being sarcastic," he said, shrugging wildly and throwing himself back onto the seat, waving his near-empty bottle around. "I fucking hate my life, I may never go back. I might just stay in Vegas."

"_Here we go_," Doug sighed with a roll of his eyes.

"You know what, Doug?" Phil called over the wind, looking out across the dry grass beside the road to the trees and the sky beyond. "You should enjoy yourself, because come Sunday you're gonna start _dying," _he said, turning back to Doug, "a little bit every day."

"_Wow," _Will said with a dry, scornful laugh, downing the rest of her drink. "Great pep-talk. Thanks for that." Placing the bottle on the floor by her feet, she leant forward to muss her brother's hair comfortingly. Doug tolerated it, shaking his head with a long-suffering sigh, but she knew he wasn't too upset by his cynical friend's comment. She sat back, not glancing toward the other side of the car as Phil made a noise of protest.

"Ah, you know what I meant," he grumbled, finishing the last of his drink, throwing it on the ground and then going to his bag to find another.

"Yeah," Alan suddenly piped up. "That's why I've managed to stay single this whole time, y'know?"

"Really?" Stu said, sarcastically. "_That's _why you're single?"

Will smirked as she watched the clouds in the distance.

Alan nodded, completely oblivious as usual. "Yeah."

"Cool," Stu didn't miss a beat with his sarcasm, nodding along with the bearded man. "Good to know."

Will barked a laugh, and sent an elbow into Stu's side. The dentist swatted her away with a sardonic grin.

"Am I alright over there, Alan?" Doug asked as the conversation died down.

Alan answered, "Yeah, you're good."

"Alright."

Will glanced over as Doug switched lanes, just in time to see the shadow of the truck coming up beside them before its horn blared in their ears, and the car swerved violently as the enormous truck pulled into the farthest lane. Will screamed, her panic joined by that of the men beside her as they clutched to the car, their drinks and each other as Doug swore loudly and quickly righted the wheel.

"Jesus Christ!"

"Oh my God!" Stu cried, clutching his stomach and taking deep breaths.

Will unlatched herself from his arm, panting heavily and feeling vaguely as if she were going to throw up as Phil laughed nervously from across the car. From the front seat, Alan sat back and cackled.

"That was awesome!" he shouted.

"That was _not _awesome! What is wrong with you?!" Doug shrieked back, his knuckles white on the steering wheel.

Will wound her fingers in the front of her shirt and leaned forward with a strangled moan, putting her head between her legs as she tried to not die. A large, warm hand settled on her back and rubbed in soothing circles, and her hope that it was Stu was quickly diminished as she heard Phil's laughter from above her head.

"That was insane," Stu gasped. "We almost just died."

"You should have seen your face!" Alan laughed. "Ha! _Classic_!"

Above her, Phil chortled something indistinguishable, and she sat up with a deep breath, running her fingers through her hair as she settled back in her seat. Doug looked at her in the mirror. "It's not funny," he said. "You alright back there, Will?"

She nodded silently, but fixed Alan with a steady glare as the man continued to giggle to himself. A hand settled on her shoulder and she looked around to see a grinning Phil watching her from behind Stu's head.

"Hey, you doin' okay there, Chuckles?"

Will didn't even think. She took the hand from her shoulder and threw it from her, her face twisting into a picture of cold fury. Then without a glare, and without a word, she sat back in stony silence and returned to staring blankly out at the road, her arms folded across her chest as she did all she could to ignore how easily the seemingly-innocent nickname opened a thousand old wounds, and brought up memories long since passed; ones that she could only wish to forget.

/

"Will."

"Huh?" She gasped awake, blinking in bleary confusion to find Stu looking down at her where she was rested against his shoulder. He nudged her gently and she sat up, rubbing her neck with a gentle groan.

"We stopped for gas. You've been asleep the last hour or so. Amazing, really, what with Alan delighting us with his singing." He rolled his eyes behind his glasses. "You must have been tired."

"Yeah, that tends to happen when you get scared out of your mind," she grumbled, stretching and lifting her sunglasses to massage her eyes.

"Yeah," He looked at her. "You uh, you been sleeping okay?"

"What are you, my shrink?"

Stu rolled his eyes, catching the hint. "You want anything from the store?"

"Yeah, let me get my wallet." They clambered from the car, and she gazed around as Stu stretched with a grunt and opened the trunk for her. Alan stood nearby, fiddling with the gas pump, just about wrapping himself up in the hose in his effort to refill the tank while Doug and Phil trotted into the station, lifting their sunglasses onto their heads as they stepped through the automatic doors, laughing amongst themselves.

They had made it to the Mojave Desert, it seemed. Short, spiky bushes were spattered across the pale sands, as far as the eye could see, while rocky red hills stretched toward the pale blue sky. The single, dark road wound across the landscape, disappearing far into the distance. The gas station was the only building for miles.

Will dug out her wallet, feeling sweat bead on her face as a warm breeze blew through the station, zipping up her bag and closing the trunk as Alan finally tottled over and opened the fuel cap. He nodded to her, waving happily with a worn and marked book in his hand, and she fixed him with a dry stare, still sore about the dangerous and quite frankly, cruel, prank with the truck, before turning on her heel and following Stu into the service station.

They shared a sigh of relief as they stepped through the doors and were hit with the air-con. Sharing a relieved smile, they lifted their glasses and moved into the aisles. "Hey, get me a water would ya?" she called to Stu as he made for the fridges on the back wall. He waved in acknowledgement, not looking back. Shoving playfully past Doug, who threw a pack of gum her way with a chuckle, Will sought out the ice cream fridge.

Taking her glasses off her head and hanging them from the neckline of her tank-top, she peered through the frosty glass, chewing on her lip as she inspected the selection.

"Hey, they have choc mint bombs here."

Starting at the sudden voice, she raised her head and was immediately captured by the impossibly blue eyes of Phil Wenneck. He smiled at her from across the fridge, planting his hands on the black edge as he leaned forward and lowered his gaze to the ice creams within. Will watched him for a moment, before she cleared her throat, nodding curtly as she dropped her own stare. "Cool."

They stared into the fridge, neither moving to take their pickings, and she was a moment away from giving up and fleeing to the other end of the store, where she could hear Stu struggling to decide between soda and water, when Phil lifted his head, patting the fridge decisively.

"I just want to apologise for what I said back there in the car." He shook his head uncertainly, "For whatever I said." He blinked at her and she wondered how his eyes could be so bright. "You gotta know I didn't mean to upset you."

She drew an uneven breath, keeping a nonchalant furrow on her brow as she glanced to him, and then away. "It's fine," she said, sliding open the door to the fridge.

He made an unhappy noise in the back of his throat, reaching out to quickly snap the door shut. She flinched back with a surprised huff and scowled.

"Listen," he sighed, his gaze urgent. "I know that things haven't been easy between us, and I'm sure that's mostly my fault. But I want you to know that no matter what's happened over the years; with everything you've been through and all the stupid things that I've done," He took a breath, "I still care about you. A lot. And I need you to know that, even if you don't feel the same."

Will blinked incomprehensively at the man who gazed at her with unnerving earnestness. "Why are you—" she stammered, her voice failing her. She shook her head. "It's been _six years_, Phil."

"So?" he shrugged, "That doesn't mean my feelings for you have changed."

Her heart was a jackhammer in her chest as she stared at him in deep confusion, for surely that was her line. That is, if she ever so chose to dig herself out of six years worth of repression and heartache (unlikely). Will gave a bitter scoff, and a dismissive shake of her head.

He was a player, she reminded herself reproachfully. He was a player before she met him, and she was a player before they were together, and he was a player when they were done. And just because she happened to be Doug's sister, and his own ex-everything, there was no reason why he wouldn't try to worm himself into her affections and into her pants in the few days he could.

Hell, he probably saw it as a challenge. How long would it take for him to hook up with Will at Doug's bachelor party? She wouldn't be surprised if he had made bets with his buddies back home. She had seen him do such a thing a million times before; hell, she herself had participated in such bets. It wasn't quite as funny when she was the girl he was playing with.

"You're the one who left, remember?"

He winced, staring at her openly. "I know," he said. "And not a day goes by that I don't regret it."

He might as well have punched her in the gut. He could not have just said that. He wouldn't. She had to be dreaming. Or perhaps she had finally fallen off the deep end and had entirely lost it. That had to be it. On unsteady legs, she took a step back, livid in her absolute inability to comprehend what the hell he thought he was doing.

And another part of her, a deeper part; the part hidden behind those walls she had built, that wept and screamed and broke at the knowledge that he really had so little respect and care for her that he could even_ try_ something like this. Will gritted her teeth, feeling legitimately sick as she looked at him, her eyes like fire and her face like ice. "I don't know what the fuck you think you're playing at, Wenneck," she spat, "but I am not interested in your games."

A muscle in his jaw tightened, but his gaze was steady upon her. "Neither am I," he said. She faltered.

"Hey, Will, you getting something or what?"

Will tore from Phil's searing blue eyes to look to her brother where he stood at the end of the short line to the counter, looking between her and Phil warily.

"Yeah," she waved distractedly, looking down as she got a hold of herself. "I'm coming."

"Will—"

"Don't," she snapped, sneering at Phil with her heart in her throat._ "_Whatever you're doing, just... _don't." _

She made to pull open the sliding door of the fridge, intending to grab her ice cream and go, but he hurriedly pushed it shut before she could slip her hand inside, and she narrowed her eyes at the large hand that pressed against the rubber handle, holding it firmly closed.

"Listen, Will—" Phil cringed as she returned her glower upon him, not quite as fierce as she would like as he shook his head, a tendril of his windswept hair falling over his eyes. "Will, I know you don't believe me, but I am determined to prove myself," he said, sounding more serious than she had ever heard him.

She recoiled warily at this, her anger throbbing through her every vein as she listened to the man who continued to argue something that didn't make sense, in a voice so careful and deliberate, his blue eyes glowing. "I know I messed up. I know I hurt you. I know I wasn't there. But I am now. And if you just give me a chance, I promise I will never let you down again."

She resisted the growing urge to allow herself to even consider that the words coming from his lips could be even remotely true. Not a single bit of it made sense, but his face was so open, and his eyes so earnest and blue. How could anything be so blue? But if there was one thing in this world that Will Billings was sure of, beyond her love for her brother and her faith in the world to prove her right in her decision to stay in it... It was that she was not about to let Phil Wenneck hurt her again.

"This is not the time," she told him, her voice clear and quiet, and near impassionate in its firm deliverance, "or the place for you to be saying this shit to me." Her hands curled into fists as she spoke; her words crisp and her stare resolute. "I am here for my brother. To celebrate his last days before he gets married to the woman he loves, and starts his new life without me. And I do not need you spouting shit you have no right or reason to say."

"Yo, Phil! You picked something yet?" Doug called, shifting uneasily where he stood in the shortening line, watching their altercation with a tense expression.

"Yep," Phil replied shortly, glancing briefly over with an irritated sigh. "Yeah, be right there, bud." He licked his thin lips and gave a strained smile, with what looked unnervingly like vulnerability in his eyes. "Will, come on. Look, I know you think you hate me—"

Her face twisted and a strangled laugh escaped her throat. "_Hate _you?" she spluttered, shaking her head in absolute bewilderment. "Fuck, Phil. I don't hate you," she laughed humourlessly, her eyes on his. "You make me _sad."_

Will heard his breath catch and he stared at her a long moment, his eyes as deep as the ocean. "I know," he said quietly, at last. "I know I do." With a deep breath, Phil fixed her with a look that made her heart bleed. "But give me the chance, Will, just give me the chance and I _promise_, I will spend the rest of my life doing everything humanly possible to make you happy again."

A beat passed as they stood there in a gas station in the middle of the desert, with nothing but a fridge filled with ice cream between them. Then she laughed, a deep, true, full-bellied laugh of absolute incredulity. Will ran her hands over her face and stepped fully away from the fridge. "Oh, _that_ is priceless," she chuckled, waving a finger at him. "Fuckin' hell."

"Hey, guys—!"

"_Yes_, Doug!" she called to an exasperated Doug. "We're coming. Fuck."

She heard the fridge open and shut and then Phil held something out to her, silently. She stared at the choc mint bomb in his outstretched hand for a long, slightly dazed moment, her anger ebbing away to a familiar empty numbness. She reached out and slowly took it from him, trying not to dwell on the fact that he still remembered her favourite ice cream.

"Phil, let's just..." she gave a tired sigh. "Leave the past where it belongs. In the past."

He frowned fiercely and opened his mouth to argue nonsense, but she didn't give him the chance. Will turned on her heel and shuffled over to stand by her anxious brother.

"All good?" Doug asked, carefully flippant as he eyed Phil, who had ducked into an aisle and was now perusing the selection of chips, his broad shoulders stiff beneath his blue shirt, and his motions jerky.

She shook her head, chuckling absently to herself, the sound dull. Doug frowned and opened his mouth to push her, but could say no more as Phil stepped up behind them, tearing open his chip packet and throwing the contents noisily into his mouth, scowling at something over the counter.

Will took a deep breath, feeling the man's heat at her back, but refused to grant him any more of her attention. If he was going to be a complete and utter prick and mess with her head like that, or in any such way, then there was no way in hell that she was going to even attempt to play nice this weekend. Doug be damned.

"_Yeah, you better walk on!"_

"He's actually kinda funny," Phil commented through a mouthful of chips.

"Yeah," Doug sighed. "He means well."

Will raised her head to see Alan through the service station window, waving his book at the back of a quickly retreating man. _"I'll hit an old man in public!"_ She heard him shout, and she frowned at their short, hairy companion, eyeing his white sneakers, high-waisted pants and tucked in shirt with open distaste.

The fact that he was verbally abusing an elderly man for likely no good reason was hardly surprising. Alan seemed to enjoy that kind of thing. She supposed she should be grateful that it was an adult he was abusing; not like last Christmas at the Garner's annual Christmas Party, when he forcibly ploughed his way through a crowd of children to sit on Santa's lap. Will and Tracy had retreated to the pool-house and denied all relation, as well as any knowledge of who the arrogant, sociopathic man-child belonged to.

"Is he all there?" Phil asked Doug, clearly amused by Alan's anti-social antics. Will was not surprised. "Like, mentally?"

Doug sighed again, "I think so," he replied with a shrug. "He's just an odd guy. Kinda weird."

"I mean should we be _worried_?" he glanced around to see her brother shake his head, "_No_, no."

"Alright," Phil said.

Will's mouth twitched as she glanced over her shoulder to catch her brother's eye. "Tracy did mention that we shouldn't let him gamble," she reminded him wryly.

Doug nodded as they reached the front of the line, "Or drink too much."

Will snorted as she placed her ice cream on the counter, moving to the side to make room for the men to throw down their own items. Leaning against the counter, she ignored how Phil moved closer as he pulled his wallet from his back pocket.

"Jesus," he cried. "He's like a gremlin. Comes with instructions and shit."

Will smiled at that, and Phil spotted it, a smirk stretching across his face as Stu appeared behind him, leaning between him and Doug to place two bottles on the counter amongst their array of unhealthy foodstuffs.

"And two waters," he said.

"All good with Melissa?" Doug asked, and Will rolled her eyes, shifting unhappily and watching the cashier slowly scan their items.

"Oh, yeah," Stu grinned. "Told her we're two hours outside of wine country, and she bought it."

Phil made a face, shaking his head in amazement before turning to lean on the counter beside Will, crossing his arms over his chest as he fixed Stu with a hard look. "Don't you think it's strange that you've been in a relationship for three years and you still have to lie about going to Vegas?"

"Yeah, I do," Stu nodded, staring steadily at his derisive friend. "But trust me; it's not worth the fight."

"Oh!" Phil cried, glancing around scathingly, "So, you can't go to Vegas but," he took a breath, "_she _can fuck a bellhop on a carnival cruise line."

"Hey!" Doug backhanded Phil's arm as Stu blustered, and Will cringed in apology at the affronted face of the lady cashier. Phil stared around unapologetically, his chin held high.

"Okay, first of all," Stu said, with narrowed eyes, "he was a _bartender_. And she was wasted."

Will scratched her nose as Phil glanced to her, his face deadpan, and she pressed her lips together as they shared a look.

Stu put his hands in his pockets as they turned back to him, staring and waiting for what would no doubt be an eloquent and convincing apology for his girlfriend's blatant infidelity.

"And if you must know," Stu said, "he didn't even cum inside her."

Will's face twisted, her tongue sticking out in revulsion as she turned back to the counter with a shudder. Beside her, Phil stood and leaned toward Stu, "And you believed that?" he asked, before turning to smile at the cashier, who stared back, looking less than impressed.

"Uh, yeah," Stu said, as Phil chuckled softly to himself, opening his mouth to speak, while Doug glanced at Will with a long-suffering stare. "I _do_ believe that, because she's grossed out by semen."

Phil's mouth snapped shut. Will hid behind a hand as she tried to disappear into the counter, and Doug just stared into space, looking as if Stu had just personally dishonoured his ancestors.

"That'll be thirty-two fifty," the cashier stated.

Phil slid to the side and gave Stu a look, "It's thirty-two fifty," he said, "You gonna pay for it?"

It wasn't a question.

Stu sighed heavily, glowering at the innocent-looking Phil as Doug bit his lip, trying to hide his smile, and Will slid her sunglasses back onto her face, her lips pressed together. Phil and Doug scooped up their own stuff and strolled out the door into the warm sunlight, while Will hung back and waited for the disgruntled Stu to pay.

"When did you call Melissa?" she asked as they thanked the cashier and left.

"While you were asleep," he answered, adjusting his glasses as they stepped out from the air-conditioned building. "You were out cold. Could've slept through a tornado."

She nodded, unwrapping her ice-cream. "Yeah, well, I had a long shift at the hospital."

"Yeah," Stu laughed wryly, "the office isn't much better. It was hell trying to convince them to let me have the weekend off."

"I know what you mean."

They met the others at the car, and Doug gave her a warning look when he saw her ice-cream, to which she rolled her eyes but nodded understandingly. Alan sat in the passenger seat, his nose in that book of his, while Doug fiddled with the keys, and Phil settled into his seat, stretching an arm across the back of the car as he munched on his chips. Will stepped aside and gestured for Stu to get in.

"Oh, no," Stu shook his head. "It's your turn for the middle."

"What? No way."

"Uh, _yes _way." He gestured toward her. "You have shorter legs than me."

"But you got a smaller butt," she argued as her ice-cream began to melt.

He crossed his arms and stared down at her as she blustered angrily, trying to come up with a solid reason why she couldn't sit in the middle. Doug sighed impatiently from the front seat and she resisted the urge to stamp her foot like a four year old.

"_Stu—"_ she whined, at last.

"Come on, Will," Phil called, and she turned to frown at him. "You can sleep on my shoulder the rest of the way."

Her frown deepened at his offer, but he just grinned and patted the back of the car invitingly.

"I'm good," she said icily.

"Eh," he shrugged dismissively, though his smirk did not falter. "Suit yourself."

"Go on." Stu nodded toward the seat, his mouth twitching. "Get in."

Realising that she truly had no choice, and that it was too late to run, she let out a resigned but petulant groan, and slid into the seat beside Phil, who wiggled aside to give her room, but left his arm stretched behind her head. Holding her ice cream, she strapped herself in and waited for Stu to hop in and get situated before she pressed herself as close to his side as possible.

Crossing her legs to maintain the most minimal contact with the man to her right, she huffed in outrage as he sat with his chips in his lap, smirking cockily to himself as he stretched out his legs, purposefully pressing the length of his thigh against hers, and leaning his warm, slightly sweaty side against her arm.

"You quite comfortable?" she spat, eyeing his leg.

Phil hummed merrily as Doug started the engine and pulled out of the station. Phil threw a chip into his mouth as he watched her bristling form through the brown filter of his aviators. "Perfectly," he gleamed.

"Play nice, children," Doug said, meeting Will's indignant eyes in the rear-view mirror and giving her a tired, pleading look.

"Yes, _Dad_," Phil chuckled, picking up his chips and offering them to Will. She ignored him, crossing her arms and sinking into the seat, staring out the windscreen and hoping that they would get to Vegas sooner rather than later.

/

The difference between the heat of a desert in summer, and the heat of a man you were physically attracted to, and whose body's curves, lines, dips, feel and taste you could remember in disturbing and distracting detail, was incredibly distinct.

As the hours passed, Will's mood improved with the light banter of her brother and their friends, the warm wind in her hair, and the half-decent music that thrummed through the fine leather interior of the gleaming silver Mercedes. But the warm body pressed to her side and the arm which she could feel rested against the back of her head remained in her conscious awareness as they sped down the desert road, and the sun moved slowly across the late afternoon sky.

As the afternoon dragged on, she had slowly given in, inch by inch, until she had relaxed against Phil, her legs uncrossing and leaning with equal pressure against his own leg, while her shoulder had found its place beneath the curve of his arm, her hands in her lap as the length of her side flushed against his. She didn't look at him, or talk to him, nor give any indication of how incredibly comfortable she was sitting so intimately close to him, and to her genuine surprise, he didn't say a thing about it.

After his shocking declaration at the gas station, she had fully expected him to gloat; to point out each way she was reacting to him, and how it meant something she would vehemently protest that it did not. All in his attempt to screw with her and ruin her life. But then again, she realised, he knew her too well for that.

He knew full well that should he push her, reach for her, or try anything untoward, that she would retreat, and bury herself within her mind; no matter her true feelings, no matter how much she wished to let herself be scooped up by him and lose herself in his warmth. He had learned his lesson the first few times, way back when. And though she was loathe to admit it, it was quite likely that Phil Wenneck remained one of the few people who knew her more intimately than she knew herself.

She sighed into the wind. He couldn't have really meant what he said at the gas station, could he? It seemed impossible. It _was _impossible. He regretted leaving her? He still cared, a _lot?_ What did that even mean?

It was pure fantasy – how many times had she dreamed in those first few months after he left, that he would show up on her doorstep, begging for her to take him back? And how many times had she sobbed herself to sleep after hearing from Doug that Phil had been out with yet another beautiful girl at some party that Will would never have been invited to?

Shaking her head at herself, she gave a low, scornful laugh. It was pathetic to think that he would honestly want her back _six years _after he dumped her, and additionally, it was unfair to herself. It had taken so long to get over him – and if she were honest, she wasn't sure she could ever completely get over such a man as he, but she had come so far from what she was. And six years was a very long time to do it.

And really, even if he did want her back, —as unlikely as that may well be—it was impossible, for the present Will Billings was a far cry from the girl that Phil Wenneck had dated all those years ago. Not that anyone could really blame her for the change. Losing your parents in a horrible accident tended to do that kinda thing to a person.

Will's eyes slid to Doug, and she watched her little brother drive, his dark brown hair whipping in the wind as he scratched his nose and laughed at something Stu had said. She wondered what it would be like if her parents were still alive. If they hadn't been caught in the rain that night. How different would their lives be? How different would the wedding be?

Their father would have been hopelessly overexcited, wanting to pitch in on the cooking and the decorations and the dresses and tuxedos, probably pissing off everyone with his enthusiasm, while Mum would have no doubt driven them all mad as she critiqued every aspect of the proceedings with that hard, unrelenting and brilliant eye of hers.

And they each would have done everything they could to make it the perfect day for their son and the woman he loved, no matter the cost. Will's heart was heavy as she wondered if Doug had entertained such morose thoughts. But he was her brother, and so she knew he had. She hoped he knew just how much they loved him, and how proud they would have been.

Will sat back in the leather seat and marvelled at the boy she had grown up with, the boy she had played with, fought with, and taken care of. That same boy was getting married in two days. _Married. _She couldn't tell whether she wanted to laugh or cry. Maybe a bit of both.

She tried not to think about what was going to happen once all the pomp and ceremony was over. Once the wedding was done, and Doug and Tracy left for their honeymoon. She tried not to think about going home to an empty house. But her stomach lurched and she shifted uncomfortably, her face falling into an unhappy grimace as she sank further into her seat. It would suck. _Suck. _She would have to help him move out, and then she would be left with another empty room, and an attic full of memories. And she would be left in the house she was raised in, and she would be _alone_.

"Hey," Phil nudged her softly, nursing yet another bottle of beer. "Whatcha thinkin' about?"

Will's jaw clenched as she stared unhappily at the back of her little brother's head.

"Overalls," she muttered. "And gumboots, and toy trucks." Old memories.

Phil's confused gaze felt heavy on her face, and she just shook her head with a sigh, slumping into the seat, inadvertently burrowing further into his side.

"Okay," he said, and she felt his leg press comfortingly against hers.

"Hey, guys?" Alan called from up front, sitting up, his book still in hand, open close to the end. He had read nearly the entire thing the last hour alone. "It says here we should work in teams. Who wants to be my spotter?"

Will sighed and grimaced at the book, kicking up a foot to nudge Doug's elbow with the toe of her shoe. "I don't think you should be doing too much gambling, Alan," she called, over the radio and the wind.

"Gambling?" Alan frowned, glancing over his shoulder. "Who said anything about gambling? It's not gambling when you know you're going to win." Doug met her eyes in the rear-view mirror, his eyebrows raised. "Counting cards is a fool-proof system," Alan informed her.

"_Oh_," she said, glancing to Stu with a roll of her eyes.

"It's also illegal," Stu said, adjusting his glasses.

"It's not illegal," Alan scoffed. "It's frowned upon. Like masturbating on an airplane."

Doug and Will snorted, and Phil sat back, amused. "I'm pretty sure that's illegal, too."

"Yeah, maybe after 9/11, when everybody got so sensitive," Alan huffed. "Thanks a lot, Bin Laden."

"Oh my god," Will laughed guiltily, as the others grimaced and looked about in blatant shock and disapproval.

Doug shook his head, recovering from Alan's inconsiderate and highly politically incorrect comment first. "Either way, you've gotta be super smart to count cards, buddy, okay?"

"Oh, really?" Alan asked, clearly affronted.

"It's not easy," Doug shrugged.

"Okay," Alan said, dripping with sarcasm, "Well, maybe we should tell that to Rainman because he practically bankrupted a casino, and he was a ruhtard."

Four sets of eyes blinked at the hairy man in the passenger seat.

"What?" Doug asked, adjusting his hands on the steering wheel as he turned his head stare incredulously at Alan.

"He was a ruhtard," Alan said again.

Will giggled quietly against an unamused Stu, as Doug corrected his future brother-in-law, "_Re_tard."

"Jesus..." Stu groaned.

Phil chuckled, taking a long swig of his beer, "Where the hell did you find this guy?"


	4. Vegas Lights

"Hey, guys?" Doug called out several hours later.

Will blinked awake and quickly lifted her head from Phil's chest as he shook himself awake, rubbing his eyes as she absolutely avoided looking his way, wondering how long she had slept against him and hoping he had fallen asleep before she had. She heard Stu grunt and look up from her book he had picked up from the floor.

"Huh?"

Stretching and groaning, they looked about, and then froze in astonishment, their eyes widening behind their sunglasses as their jaws hit the ground.

"Holy—"

"Jesus Christ!"

"Wow—"

Doug grinned as the traffic lights changed, he turned the corner and they were met with a sight beyond their wildest dreams. White bridges, tall, green palm trees, enormous billboards, floor upon floor of hotel rooms in buildings of all shapes and sizes, and as the sun set over the horizon, more coloured neon and flashing lights than their eyes could take in.

"Welcome to Las Vegas," he grinned.

"Holy fuck," Will breathed, barely able to speak as she gazed about in child-like wonder.

"Ain't that a sight...?" Phil sighed, nudging his knee against Will's.

Stu laughed beside them, giddy with excitement. "Look at the size of that place!"

"Hey, Phil, look!" Alan cried. "It's the Eiffel Tower!"

"Woah, look at the statues in that fountain."

"Wait," Stu cried as Doug turned into what had to be one of the most unique array of buildings they had ever seen. On the white stone, above the columns and the tall, rectangular windows and beneath pediment on the Roman-style roofs, way above them in red block words read, _Caesar's Palace._ "_This _is our hotel?"

"Yep!" Doug laughed, the lights reflecting in his eyes as he tried to remain focussed on the road, determined not to crash minutes after finally arriving in Las Vegas. They pulled up to the entrance, their eyes on the groomed gardens, the fabulous statues and the lights on the fountain. A valet greeted them as a bellhop hurried over with a luggage trolley. The five of them clambered out of the car, stretching and grunting and stumbling around with stupid grins on their faces as they took it all in.

"Damn," Will whistled.

"Isn't this great?" Doug laughed as he handed over the keys to the Mercedes, taking the valet ticket in return, as the bellhop unloaded their bags from the trunk.

The siblings caught up with Phil and Stu, who waited at the top of the stairs, and together they entered the lavish hotel. Enormous lanterns hung from the richly decorated roof of the grand, circular lobby. Their shoes tapped across polished marble floors and sank into plush carpets in the room which seemed to glow with lights, backlighting giant decorative urns, smaller statues in grooves high on the walls and grand paintings and mosaics filling the majority of the wall-space below. Smooth marble columns stood at attention, and in the very centre of it all, atop a large, round fountain, stood three fine statues of beautiful women, half naked and glorious in their pose and detail.

They made their way to the long reception desk by the enormous mosaic of a warrior on a horse-drawn chariot, winding through the thin crowds, the bellboy with their bags close on their heels.

Will frowned as they approached the desk and a group of rather scantily-clad women thanked the receptionist and then hurried off, but not before getting an eyeful of Phil. The group looked him up and down appreciatively as they moved off, whispering amongst themselves and batting their eyelashes. And Phil would not have been Phil if he didn't stare right back, causing a chorus of bashful giggles by the charm of his blue eyed smile.

"Ladies," Phil greeted with a wink as the group walked away, rocking their hips and glancing excitedly over their shoulders, squealing.

Will gritted her teeth and moved to stand by Stu at the desk, where he had captured the attention of a dark-haired lady receptionist.

"Hi, there," Stu smiled politely. "We've got a reservation."

"Under what name, please?"

"Dr. Price."

"_Doctor _Price? Stu," Phil scoffed, turning away from the retreating sight of the ladies to stare sardonically at his friend. "You're a dentist, okay? Don't try and get fancy."

Will rolled her eyes as Stu bristled, and patted her friend's back soothingly. "Ignore the child, Doctor."

"Come on," Phil laughed huffily at her disapproving glower "He's a dentist," he told the receptionist, who looked between them awkwardly for a moment. "Don't get too excited. And if someone has a heart attack, you should still call 911."

The receptionist laughed, her eyes smiling at Phil, who smiled right on back. "We'll be sure to do that," she assured him.

"Can I ask you a question?" Alan abruptly interjected.

"Of course," the receptionist, whose nametag read 'Lisa', said.

"What, Alan?" Doug asked, sounding a little strained.

"Is this hotel pager-friendly?" their bearded companion asked. Phil cocked an eyebrow as Will let her head hang, cringing at the ridiculous man.

"What do you mean?" Lisa asked, sounding just as confused as the others looked.

"I'm not getting a sig on my beeper," Alan explained, presenting a small black pager.

Will squinted between the device and Alan. "What...?" she mumbled quietly, utterly confused as to what the hell he would need a pager for.

"I'm not sure," Lisa said.

Alan frowned. "Is there a payphone bank here? A bunch of payphones? Business," he said, as if that explained it all.

"Uh, there's a phone in your room?" Lisa suggested, and Will had to hand it to her; she took to this unusual exchange like a true professional.

"That'll work," Alan nodded, apparently satisfied. Slipping his pager back into his pocket, he apparently lost all interest in the conversation and instead wandered off, gazing about the lobby.

"So," Lisa said, looking around the group. "I have you in a two bedroom suite on the twelfth floor. Is that okay?"

"Perfect," Will sighed, eager to wash away the dust and dirt from the road, and Doug nodded beside her.

"Actually," Phil said. "I was wondering if you have any villas available."

Doug frowned in bafflement as Stu straightened to stare quizzically at his friend. "Phil, we're not even going to be in the room."

"It's unnecessary," Doug told him.

"And a complete waste of money," Will shook her head.

"It's no big deal. We can share beds for one night," Stu said.

Alan appeared on Phil's other side, his eyes alight with excitement. "If we're sharing beds them I'm bunking with Phil," Alan declared quickly. Phil straightened and turned to stare at a nodding Alan with an incredulous expression. "You good with that?"

"No," Phil said without hesitation. "I'm not good with that. And if there was any bed sharing going on, I sure as hell wouldn't be bunking with _you_. But that's not going to happen because none of us are sharing beds. What are we, twelve years old?" he laughed humourlessly, before turning back to the awkward-looking receptionist. "Lisa, I apologise," he said sincerely, his blue eyes sparkling in the golden lights of the lobby. "How much is the villa?"

Will could see the moment Lisa was caught under Phil's spell. A delicate pink flush spread across the receptionist's cheeks, spreading down her neck and sinking below the collar of her blue work-shirt. Lisa licked her lips as Phil stared intently into her brown eyes, a smirk playing at the corner of his mouth as he patiently awaited her response. "Well," she said. "We have one villa available and its forty-two-hundred for the night."

Will nearly choked on her own spit. "Holy shit!" she gasped, hardly able to believe her ears. "Forty-two-_hundred?"_

"Is it awesome?" Alan asked, not even blinking.

Will gazed around helplessly at Doug, who just shook his head and shrugged, a smile slowly stretching across his face and Stu, who reached out and patted her on the head as he shook his own in disbelief. She huffed incredulously. She could scarcely believe they had stopped to think _twice_ about booking such a ludicrously expensive room. No luxury on earth was worth throwing away that much money for one night.

"It's pretty awesome," Lisa said.

"We'll take it," Phil declared, grinning at Doug and Will in excitement. Then he reached out and nudged Stu, nodding toward Lisa, "Give her your credit card."

"What?" Will cried, outraged on Stu's behalf. "Why don't you pay? It was your idea."

Phil sighed dramatically and leaned across the desk, peering around Stu to fix her with a patronising stare. "This may come as a shock to you, but a teacher's salary is significantly less than a _dentist's_." He looked up at the stiff and lanky man beside him, who was shaking his head. "Stu—"

"I can't give her my credit card," Stu protested.

"Phil, come on," Will complained. "It's too much."

"We'll split it," Doug said, digging into his pocket.

"Doug!" Will vehemently shook her head at her brother –there was no way he was paying for his own hotel room at his bachelor party – and then huffed in aggravation. "The fuck, just take mine," she said, pulling out her card and placing it on the desk. Lisa reached out to take it, but Phil dived forward and snatched it from the desk with a scowl.

"Are you crazy? No, no way, take that back," he ordered, thrusting her bank card in her direction. "This is on us," he declared, gesturing between himself and Stu, who looked less than impressed. Will swiped the card from between his fingers with a frown.

Phil pointed at Doug, who watched quietly from behind his sister, "It's your bachelor party." And then he pointed at Will, his blue eyes searing uncompromisingly into her soul, "And your first vacation since fuckin' Christmas '04." He threw up his hands impatiently. "Stu, just give her your card."

Their dentist friend rubbed his eyes behind his glasses, letting out a frustrated breath. "You don't understand. Melissa checks my statements."

Will's scowl focussed on Stu, gasping in disgust, "She _what_? Seriously? Stu, that's mental."

"She's just a little frugal, is all," Stu shrugged, shifting uncomfortably.

"She's _psychotic_."

"We just need a credit card on file," Lisa piped up. "We won't charge you anything until you check out. So you can figure things out then."

"Perfect!" Phil exclaimed. "That's perfect. Thank you, Lisa. We'll deal with it tomorrow," he told Stu, patting the desk.

"Fine," Stu snapped, raising his eyebrows unhappily at Lisa, who waited politely as Stu grudgingly pulled out his wallet.

Will let out a breath, turning to lean back against the desk, shaking her head to her brother, "_Forty-two-hundred..." _she repeated, still finding it hard to wrap her mind around the exorbitant price.

"It'll be worth it, Will," Phil told her, coming to stand behind Stu, grinning excitedly between Will and Doug. "Once in a lifetime."

Will shook her head uncertainly, glancing at Doug, who returned Phil's thrilled grin, patting his friend on the arm in a sort of manly-handshake-slash-hug that they liked to do. Will sighed resignedly, and glanced over at the less-than-excited Stu.

"Can I ask you another question?" Alan sidled on up to the desk once more, leaning on one elbow and resting the other hand on his hip.

"Alan..." Will said, warily.

"You probably get this a lot," Alan said. "This isn't the real Caesar's Palace, is it?"

Will groaned under her breath as Lisa looked around uncertainly. "What do you mean?"

"Did, uh..." Alan stammered, glancing over to where Stu, Doug, Phil and Will had stopped to watch him with varying degrees of support, amusement, pity and exasperation. "Did—did Caesar live here?"

"Um. No," Lisa smiled, professional as ever.

"I didn't think so," Alan nodded, looking around at the mosaics.

"Jesus, Alan," Will laughed out loud as Lisa finished checking them in, the receptionist smiling politely and wishing them a good stay as she slid a blue key card to Stu, who snatched it up before Phil could get his hands on it. They collected their bags from the bellboy and headed toward the elevator.

/

"I'm just saying," Will said, stepping out of the elevator behind Stu, checking the number on each door as they made their way down the hall of their floor. "This better be the sweetest suite of all the suites that ever suited. I mean, I'm expecting a tennis court, a masseuse, a swimming pool..."

"Well, I don't know about the tennis court," Phil called from behind her, "but I know a certain someone who would be quite happy to be your personal masseuse."

Will looked over her shoulder and gave him a foul look in the same moment Doug chuckled and said, "Down boy."

In response to both, Phil grinned rakishly, carrying his leather bag at his side with ease, while Doug struggled slightly with his own luggage, and Alan simply dragged his along the ground behind him, holding it by a single strap.

Their room was right at the end of the hall, and all fell silent in eager anticipation as Stu pulled the key card from his pocket and slid it into the lock. The red light above the doorhandle turned green, there was the sound of a lock releasing, and then Stu pressed down on the handle, pushed the door open and stepped into the villa.

"Holy shit!" Stu exclaimed.

The exclamation was warranted. With roof to floor windows from one end of the enormous room to the other, giving a nighttime view of Vegas that could hardly be believed, the suite was spectacular. Plush carpets; polished tile floors, a soft grey lounge set with matching glass coffee table, a dining set at one far end and a fully stocked bar at the other, a TV on nearly every wall, including above the bar, where said television was boarded by shelves of fine liquor and wine. A full sized grand piano sat by window, and way in the far corner, tucked behind the bar and overlooking the breathtaking view of the city, was an actual Jacuzzi, with soft white towels and all.

Where there was no television, there were mirrors, and on every unused surface was an enormous bouquet of beautiful flowers in exquisite vases. Cylindrical lights hung from the high roof and there was not one inch of the room that did not gleam or shine. And as enormous as this main room was, there were doors still to be explored; two at either end of the suite, another by the front door and one in the hall. A glance within this particular door revealed the most incredible bathroom Will had ever, or was likely to ever, see.

"We could fit our entire house in here. Twice," she gaped, only half-kidding as she stood, stunned in the centre of the room. The boys immediately scoped out the entire suite, laughing and calling out in excitement.

"Now this is Vegas!" Phil declared, spreading his arms wide and grinning in a way that made him seem entirely too pleased with himself as he stared out over the city as if he were king of the world. Rather presumptuous of him, considering he hadn't paid a cent toward the room.

"Oh my—" Doug laughed, covering his mouth as he opened doors and drawers and gazed around in exhilaration. "This place is enormous!"

"Now we're talking," Phil said, putting his hands on his hips and nodding as he inspected the room. His eyes landed on Will as she stood still, almost overwhelmed, in the middle of the suite. He grinned at her, his blue eyes gleaming, "Like it?"

She laughed breathlessly as she stared out at the Vegas lights. Then she pulled a face like so-so, and shrugged. "Eh. It's alright, I guess."

"'_Alright_'," he mocked with a shake of his head, chuckling at her.

"Is this all one suite?" Doug asked.

"Looks like it—" Stu replied, looking psyched despite himself. "Hey, guys look! A Jacuzzi!"

"In the living room," Will laughed, turning to her brother. "That's fuckin' awesome. Hey Doug, let's get one for our place."

"Sure! We'll put it next to the leather sofa and the solid gold TV," Doug joked.

"Perfect," Will grinned.

Her brother shook his head in astonishment, taking a deep breath as he faced his friends. "But seriously, thank you, guys—Or should I say, thank you, _Stu_," he corrected.

"You are welcome," Stu nodded, wincing only slightly at the reminder that he was the one currently stuck with the bill for this place. "It's only cause I love you."

"Okay," Phil clapped as the excitement died down, moving to pick up his bag. "Let's pick a room, get dressed. Be ready in thirty minutes."

"You hear that, Will?" Stu called, retrieving his own bag from by the front door. "_Thirty_."

She sneered at him good-naturedly, rolling her eyes as she lifted her duffel-bag to her shoulder, "_Yes, Mum_."

Stu laughed a moment, and then stopped as the others began to move off into the separate rooms, a thought coming to mind as he stared at her. "Wait. Guys," he called. "How are we doing this? There's four rooms, right?"

Phil turned to blink at him uncomprehendingly, "Yeah? So?"

"So," Stu nodded pointedly toward the sole female amongst them, "there's_ five_ of us."

"That's okay," Doug shrugged, unperturbedly. "Will can bunk with me."

"What?" Phil frowned, "No, it's your night. You should get your own room."

"Will can sleep with me if she wants," Alan offered with a casual shrug and a flick of his hair. "I'm okay with it."

Will immediately shook her head, and saw Phil firmly do the same, as she told Alan in simple terms, "_I'm _not okay with that."

"Phil, seriously I'm fine with sharing with her," Doug said.

"No, look, why don't _we_ just share a room?" Phil proposed, turning to Will with a half-shrug and a smile, as if it were totally no big deal. "I mean, it's not like you got anything I haven't seen—"

"Whoa, hey," Stu cut in quickly, stepping in front of Will as her cheeks began to boil and her mind filled with so many reasons why it was, in fact, a massive fucking deal, that it would take her a week to list them all. "Let's not go there, alright?" Stu said, narrowing his eyes warningly at an unfazed Phil. "Will can share with me."

"Yeah," Will nodded, "I'll go with Stu."

"Alright, cool." Doug said. "All settled."

"Wait, what?" Phil demanded, throwing up his hands and staring at Doug incredulously. "You're just okay with that?"

"It's _Stu_," Doug shrugged. "She's known him for longer than I have."

After a long moment, Phil scoffed in resignation. "Right. Okay, _fine_," he said. "Alright, twenty-five minutes, people. Let's go."

Stu and Will headed to the closest available room, and Phil was quick to take the one beside it, so Doug was left to take the room on the other side of the suite, beside Alan's. Not that there would be any issue with space or noise. As large as the main room was, the bedrooms were equally as ridiculous in their sheer size and design.

In the centre of the room sat the king-sized bed, swathed in a silky grey doona, impossibly soft white sheets and more pillows than she could imagine use for. Two comfortable arm chairs sat to the left of the bed, by two doors which she assumed led to a closet; to the right of the bed sat a dark wood desk and chair, complete with lamp, papers and pens, situated in front of an enormous window with heavy, dark curtains, perfect for keeping out that early morning sunshine. A television was built into the wall by the door, and beneath this was a large chest of drawers on top of which sat a vase of brilliant blue flowers. To the immediate left of the door was the bathroom.

"Wow, just look at this place," Will sighed, dropping her bag by the foot of the bed and then collapsing on her back onto the mattress, groaning loudly as she sank several inches into the soft bedding.

"The view is phenomenal," Stu said, peering out the window as he stretched his arms above his head with a grunt.

"Hey, Stu," she said, rolling onto her front and watching him stand by the window, resting her chin on her hands and kicking her legs happily. "I'll go half on the bill," she told him. "You shouldn't have to cop it all because Phil's a stingy bastard."

Stu was already shaking his head as he turned to look at her. "No, no, he's right. It wouldn't feel right for you or Doug to pay anything."

She pouted at him as he picked up his suitcase and put it on the bed, unzipping it and sorting through his clothes. "But it's not _my _party," she argued, "and he's my brother. I should contribute."

"No. Seriously, it's fine," he told her. "Will, you haven't left LA in years. Hell, you've barely left your _house_ in years. This trip is as much for you as it is for Doug. Why do you think we brought you along?" he chuckled, pulling out a spray can and pointing it in her direction. "There's more to life than work and Netflix, you know."

"Oh, yeah," she raised her eyebrows challengingly, "like what?"

"Uh. Like _people_. And fun."

"I have people," she said, bristling a little as she watched him pick out an outfit. She reached out and picked up the spray can curiously. "Rogaine? What is this, like, spray-on hair?"

"Give me that," Stu snapped, snatching it from her hands and shoving the can deep into the bottom of his suitcase. Will sniffed unconcernedly, rolling onto her back and watching Stu pick through his socks, of which he brought a great many.

"And I do have fun," she continued. "Remember last week when we went and saw a movie and had dinner at the diner and you nearly threw up on that guy? And then you crashed at my place, and Doug made pancakes in the morning. With the little berries, remember?"

Stu chuckled as he put his chosen pair of socks aside. "Yeah, and you got mad because Doug put all the whipped cream on his and mine. And you got nothing but sugar and sadness."

"Such a dick," Will grumbled. "But that was fun, right?"

"It was," he agreed and she crossed her hands behind her bed, satisfied. Stu sighed, "But Will, I don't think Doug and I count. I'm talking about people _other _than us. I've known you forever and Doug's your brother. I mean, there's a whole world of people out there, and I think if you tried you could make loads of friends."

Will scoffed, waving him off. "I don't need any more friends."

"The thing is," Stu let out a heavy breath, "Doug's getting married soon, to Tracy. So he'll be busy moving out and getting their new apartment ready, and I'll be busy with work and with Melissa..."

"So... What? You're saying I need new friends because you guys are planning on ditching me?" she demanded, frowning at him from upside down.

"No, that's not what I meant—"

"But that's what you said."

"Will, we're not going to ditch you," he told her with a roll of his dark blue eyes. "You're one of my best friends. I'd never do that to you. I'm just saying that I'm worried that now that Doug's not going to be around so much anymore, that it might be in your best interest to find a group of people to hang out with. So you don't feel like we've abandoned you. Because we haven't—"

"You're just busy," she finished.

"Right," he nodded. "Exactly."

"Right," she repeated, twiddling her fingers thoughtfully. "So Doug's moving out to live with Tracy. And he'll be busy with that. So," she frowned at him, still upside down, "what are _you_ gonna be busy with?"

Stu glanced down at her, clearing his throat before he continued. "I told you. Work."

Her eyes narrowed, "But what do you mean you'll be too busy with _Melissa_?" Will pursed her lips considerately. "She usually lets you come hang with me."

"Well, things might be a little different now."

"Why?" She tilted her head inquisitively, "Because Doug's moving out?"

"Well, yes, there is that..." he trailed off.

"What, you think she might not let you come and see me if it's just me and not me and Doug?"

"Will..." he sighed.

"You'd let her do that?" she demanded, horrified.

"No, of course not," he assured her. "But that's not what I mean."

Will rolled over onto her front and pushed herself up until she was on her knees. Then she sat there, and squinted at him, and waited until he started to squirm. Then, once he had picked up and stared the same shirt three times, he finally gave in, releasing a loud, defeated breath, closing his eyes and telling her:

"I'm gonna ask her to marry me."

There was a single beat, as was all it took for that terrible piece of information to travel from her ear canal to her brain, before her entirely instinctual reaction was, "Are you fucking kidding me?"

Stu huffed and shrugged, "We've been together a long time, and I think it's time we... y'know, tied the knot," he explained.

Will stared at him long and hard, "You're actually serious?"

"Yeah," he laughed. Then when she was silent, he quickly grew restless and dropped his belongings to stare impatiently at his friend, "...What?" he demanded.

The corner of Will's mouth turned down as she shrugged noncommittally and sat back, crossed legged on the bed, "Nothing."

"Well, obviously it's something," he told her.

"No, no," she shook her head and raised her hands helplessly. "If you really wanna marry and spend the rest of your life with that woman, then that's your choice."

"That's not exactly encouraging," he grumbled, picking up the shirt he dropped, screwing it into a ball and tossing it back into his bag.

She shrugged impassively, not looking directly at him. "I'm not trying to be encouraging," she told him.

"She's really not as bad as you guys make her out to be," he told her exasperatedly, shaking his head and grumbling to himself. "You just don't know her like I do."

"I know that she cheated on you," she said matter-of-factly, "And that she abuses you, almost on a daily basis. I'm sorry if I just can't see that as a foundation for a happy and healthy marriage."

"Could you please just trust me when I say I know what I'm doing?" Stu plead, staring at her with frustration and a little vulnerability in his dark eyes. He shrugged loosely, "And at least try to be happy for me?"

Stu huffed and glowered into his lap. Will sighed, "Look, I'll say it once, so it's out of my system, and then you can decide what you want to do. Cause it is your life, and I will support you in whatever you want to do. But believe me when I say this, Stu: marrying Melissa is a bad fuckin' idea. And I don't think you should do it."

Stu sighed gloomily, looking markedly unhappy about the whole thing. "Your opinion is noted," he droned miserably after a moment.

"Good," she nodded.

He released a long, slow breath, clambering back to his feet and laying out his clothes on the bed before him. "I'm gonna have a shower. You want one?"

"Yeah," she waved encouragingly. "You go first."

"Alright, I'll be quick."

"Alright," she nodded, watching as he glowered at the floor, picking up his underwear as he marched toward the bathroom, clearly deep in his thoughts. "Hey, Stu?" she called after him.

"Yeah?"

"You know I love ya." She grinned.

"Yeah," he sighed after a moment, his eyes softening as he looked at her, and then shook his head. "Love you too."

/

Will stared at herself in the bathroom mirror, pulling at the skirt of her dress with a grimace. She was nervous. Which was fucking stupid, because what was she nervous about? She had worn this dress a hundred times before and nobody had wrinkled their noses or vomited, so she knew it was fine. She looked good. She had seen what Doug and Stu intended to wear; smart casual, a nice shirt and a jacket with dark slacks. So, she had to wear a dress. But that wasn't the issue, was it?

Fucking Phil. Phil fucking Wenneck.

_Phil._

Six years is a long time. She had a friend who had been married and divorced twice, and had twins, in six years. Will herself had gone to university and gotten a degree in four years, and worked as a nurse for two, in the last six years alone. She had lost her parents, mourned and recovered and moved on with her life. Doug had met Tracy, fallen in love and proposed. Stu had become a dentist, met Melissa, moved in together and travelled the world. Six years was a goddamn lifetime. It was practically _forever._

And now, six years after Phil Wenneck stood on her front doorstep, hands in his pocket, refusing to meet her eyes as he told her that he 'couldn't do this anymore'; six years after watching him walk away, after sitting in the hall and bawling into her knees, her mum running from the study, her father from the kitchen, as Doug flew out the door after his best friend, Phil turning at the front gate only to receive a fist to the face.

Six years after the heartbreak, the broken friendship, the tears, the forgiveness and her solemn declaration to her brother that she 'never wanted to see Phil Wenneck again', Will stood in the bathroom in the villa suite of Caesar's Palace, dressed to the nines and feeling as if she were marching to her death.

It would have helped if he had grown fat, or lost his hair, or smelled funny, or was in any way unappealing. Then she could shake out her freshly-dried and fashioned hair, slip on her heels and strut out to stand before her brother and her friend, and Alan and Phil Wenneck without hesitation, confident in the knowledge that she was free from her attraction to him, and impervious to his charms. But she wasn't.

And now, the thought of spending the night fighting off old feelings and new, and having to watch as they crawled from nightclub to bar to strip-club to casino floor as he flirted with everything in a skirt, and pretending like she hadn't spared him a single thought over the last six years and telling herself that it still didn't send dull pangs through her chest whenever Doug so much as mentioned his name...

She shook her head with a disgusted breath, leaning against the counter and scowling at the fine marble, cool beneath her hands.

"Pathetic," she whispered. "So fucking stupid."

She looked up at herself; at her green eyes beneath dark eyelids and long lashes, at her wavy black hair, her pale skin and her red painted lips. Will scowled. "He's moved on. It's in the past. Grow up," she told the girl in mirror, staring hard for a long moment.

Then she sighed and straightened, wiping at the makeup on her cheek and checking herself over one last time before she threw her makeup back into its travel bag, picked up her dirty clothes and trudged, barefooted, out of the bathroom.

Four heads turned as she stepped from the cold tiles to the plush carpet. Doug smiled at her in his white shirt and jacket, while Alan stood by the door in the same pants and sneakers he wore on the drive, but with a grey shirt now instead of white, a brown bag strapped across his chest and a bottle of dark liquor in a plastic bag in his hand. A pair of dark legs could be seen behind Doug, where she assumed Phil lounged, and she cleared her throat as she dumped her clothes and makeup on the armchairs by the closet.

"You guys ready—?" she cut off as she looked past the bed where Stu stood with his hands on his hips, not wearing a shirt. She tried not to make a face at the sight of her friend's thin, hairy chest. "Jesus, Stu," she said, falling into the second armchair and pulling her duffel-bag toward her from where it sat by the bed, rifling through to pull out her shoes. "You're kinda supposed to wear clothes to this sort of thing."

"I'm wearing pants!" he huffed. "Don't rush me."

Phil sat forward, and she glanced at him, trying not to look too closely at the despicably handsome man in the black shirt and suit, his long hair smoothed back off his face.

"Damn, Will, you look..." he trailed off, and she swallowed as she tied one strap on her heel too tightly.

"You look really beautiful, Will," Alan blurted.

Will blinked and looked up at the man, slightly stunned, and then gave a small smile. "Thanks, Alan. You look..." She glanced at his high belt and sneakers, wondering if nightclubs would even let him in. "You look great, too."

"Thanks," he shrugged. "I brought this shirt from an online auction. Got a towel set and a pretty sweet collection of Japanese pillows there, too."

She looked up at him from her seat, smiling uncertainly. "...Okay. That's cool."

"Yeah, it is," he flicked his hair confidently. "So," he turned to the others, "are we ready to let the dogs out?"

"What?" Doug laughed, brushing some lint off his shoulder.

"Do what?" Stu frowned.

"Let the dogs out," Alan repeated. "You know, like," he rocked rhythmically from foot to foot as he sang, "_Who let the dogs out? Who? Who? Who_—?"

Phil looked away from Will, gesturing to the hairy man. "Who brought this guy along?"

"Yes, Alan," Doug said, smiling soothingly at the disbelieving Phil. "We are ready to let the dogs out." He turned to Stu, "Hey, congrats."

Stu huffed, and nodded dramatically. "_Thank you._"

"You know about this?" Phil asked her, pointing accusingly at Stu.

She blinked at Phil as he fixed her with a clearly irritated blue-eyed stare. "What?"

"Stu's gonna ask Melissa to marry him at Doug's reception," he said.

Will's face fell and she grimaced as she looked at the tight-lipped dentist. "At the _reception?_ Dude, no. That's so lame."

"Can we not talk about this right now?" he huffed, throwing up his hands.

"But that's just _wrong_," she cried. "Jumping on Doug and Tracy's big day like that. Why don't you wait til like, any other day?"

"Or like, never?" Phil cut in.

"Guys, lay off, will you?" Doug sighed. "Let's just finish getting ready so we can get this night going."

Stu nodded thankfully and turned away from them to pick up his shirt from the chair at the desk by the window. Phil scoffed and rolled his eyes, turning back to look at Will quietly, who ignored him and stood to leave.

"Hey, Will," Alan said "Could you help me do my hair?"

She blinked at him, glancing at his shaggy brown curls. Doug raised an eyebrow. "Do what to your hair?" she asked.

"I don't know," he shrugged, running a hand through his locks. "Just a little something to make it more... voluptuous."

"Voluptuous," she repeated.

"Yeah, maybe something to give it a little shine. Little bit of glam." He wiggled, shaking out his head and staring at her.

"I'll..." she squinted at him and nodded slowly, not seeing a reason to refuse, "see what I have."

"Alright," Doug chuckled, glancing at his sister sympathetically. "Five minutes, guys."

Will retrieved her makeup bag and gestured for Alan to follow her into the bathroom. Phil's eyes were hot on her back. She tried not to shiver. Fucking Phil.

/

"Your hands are really soft."

"Thanks, Alan."

"Hmm," he closed his eyes as she rubbed her mousse-covered fingers through his hair. "Hey, Will?"

"Yeah?" she replied as she plugged in her hairdryer and considered what her plan was.

"What's the stuff you use to cover your arms? You know, so you can't see the scars that well?"

She let out a low growl at the question. Everybody else in the entire world seemed to be fully aware that suicide and self-harm were taboo topics, and would never dream of bringing them up. Except, of course, for Alan Garner, who had mentioned both now in a single day. But he frowned at her with honest curiousity, his face free of malice, and she couldn't be mad.

She wondered dimly how it was that he even knew about her old scars. She supposed that he had been around at the time, so probably saw more than she would like. She shook her head resignedly.

"It's called concealer," she told him, seeing no point in lying or denying a thing. She wasn't ashamed, but that didn't mean she was in anyway comfortable talking about it, especially not with Alan. Doug knew, she knew, but she had never discussed it with him, or with anyone but her shrink.

"Oh. That must have hurt though, right?" he continued, and she wondered if he had been dropped on his head as a child, or if he seriously just did not understand social etiquette and appropriate topics of conversation. "Cutting yourself?"

She sighed heavily. "Yeah." She turned on the hairdryer, hoping the noise would make him give up the topic.

"Oh," he nodded, and then shouted over the roar of the fan. "Do you remember that night?"

"Which night, Alan?"

"The night I first met you," he clarified, squinting as the cool air ran through his hair. "After your parents' funeral."

She turned off the dryer, clicking her tongue as she kept herself in check. "Yes, Alan."

"I don't think you had the scars then."

"No, I probably didn't."

"So, like, why did you do it?" he asked as she lightly brushed his hair and nodded approvingly as the brown curls shone. She listened to his question half-heartedly, and glanced toward the open bathroom door, hearing the three men talking amongst themselves. At least they weren't listening at the door. "I mean," Alan continued. "I cut myself on one of my cool swords once and it hurt a lot, and there was blood and I mean, I only cried a little bit. But there are a lot of scars there. And you did that all to yourself?"

She winced and picked up her straightener, checking the heat and clapping the arms together. "I did."

"On purpose?" he asked, sounding shocked as she went to work on his fringe.

"Yes."

"Why?"

Will huffed and pulled back to frown at the man with irritation. He blinked at her, awaiting her answer. She sighed, her frown faltering as she cleared her throat. "Do you know what depression is, Alan?" she asked quietly, returning to his hair.

"Uh huh."

"Well, I have depression," she told him in a low voice. "I had it before my parents died, but it got worse after."

His thick brow furrowed. "So you cut yourself because you're sad?"

"Sometimes," she shrugged. "It's—it's a lot of different reasons."

"Do you feel sad right now?" he shifted worriedly. "Are you going to cut yourself?"

"No," she snorted. "No, I'm not sad now. I am a lot of the time, but you guys make me happy," she told him, watching her hands as she carefully curled the front of the man's hair. "Doug and Stu... Being here with you all makes me happy."

"Do I make you happy?" he asked, his voice childlike.

"Yeah," she smiled honestly, glancing down at his round face. "You do."

"Cool," he replied. "You make me happy. So does Doug." He sniffed. "He makes Tracy happy, too."

"I'm glad," she said, finishing the last curl and then reaching for the hairspray. She covered his eyes as she sprayed all over and then stepped back to give him a look over.

Alan coughed a bit and then turned to view himself in the mirror. He shook his head and watched the curls bounce. "Hey, when they get married and you become my sister do you reckon you can do my hair like this all the time?"

She bit her cheek. "Do you like your hair like this?"

"Yeah. I look super cool," he said with unbelievable confidence.

Will chuckled heartily, giving him a final spray. "You do."

"Hey, Will," Doug appeared at the door, screwing up his nose at the hairspray in the air. "Are you done in there?"

"Yeah, all good," she called, packing up her things.

"Thanks, Will," Alan chirped.

"You're welcome," she told him as they walked out of the bathroom together. She stopped him just before the door with a hand on his arm and looked him in the eye. "And hey, no talking about any of this, okay? It's private, between us."

Alan narrowed his eyes and nodded seriously. "Private brother and sister stuff. Got it."

"Good," she smiled, watching him step out into the room and proudly shake his head, presenting himself before the raised eyebrows of the other men. He was an odd one, she thought as she took a wad of cash, her phone and her ID and slipped them into the zipper pocket on her skirt, throwing her wallet back into her bag. But Alan Garner wasn't so bad. She hesitated a moment, and then dug out the pepper spray from her back and slipped it into the opposite pocket. Better safe than sorry, right?

/

The excitement was thick in the air as they exited their room and made their way to the elevators. Phil tapped the button with a fist as they crowded around him. Will chatted happily to Stu, brushing his shoulder clean as he laughed at something she said. Doug sent a playful punch to Phil's shoulder, and he returned it with a grin. Alan joined them last, stepping up beside Will, popping his hip and resting a hand on it as he once again shook his curly hair with pride. Phil eyed him critically, his eyes falling to the brown bag hanging at his side.

"You're not really wearing that, are you?"

Will and Stu looked up at Phil's tone, looking between him and the confused Alan.

"Wearing what?"

"The man-purse," Phil pointed. "You're actually going to wear that? Or are you guys fucking with me?" he laughed humourlessly, glancing around as if waiting for the punchline.

"It's where I keep all my things," Alan sniffed haughtily. "I get a lot of compliments on this."

"I like it," Will shrugged.

"Thank you, Will," Alan nodded serenely toward her. "Plus, it's not a man-purse. It's a satchel," he huffed. "Indiana Jones wears one."

"So does Joy Behar," Phil retorted.

"Phil..." Doug said, shaking his head as the elevator arrived.

"What?" Phil shrugged innocently as the doors slid open, revealing a woman pressed against the back wall, her face flushed as she grasped at the dark hair of the man kneeling between her legs. The back of Will's hand hit Stu's chest as they cringed with wide eyes. Phil cleared his throat as he herded the group into the elevator, and at the noise, the man stood, standing before the woman as she righted her skirt and fixed her hair. The man wiped at his mouth as he nodded to them, looking entirely unfazed.

"We're going up, guys," he told them.

"Yeah, that's perfect," Phil nodded as they crowded into the small area.

Doug looked at him, "We're going up?"

Will put Stu between herself and the dark-haired man, but glanced over her shoulder to look at the slightly embarrassed but entirely satisfied blonde in the short dress. Their eyes met, and the woman raised her brow daringly at Will, who bit her lip and nodded approvingly. She saw Doug shake his head as she shared a smirk with the blonde before turning round to wait for their floor. Vegas was a wonder.

/

"I'm just saying it's clearly marked," Stu said as Phil pushed through the door to the roof. "Okay, we are definitely not supposed to be up here."

"Oh, come on, Stu," Phil rolled his eyes as he stepped out into the warm night air. "We are paying for a villa. We can do whatever the fuck we want."

"Yeah, but—" Stu huffed.

"Just wedge the door open," Phil waved a dismissive hand before he turned to the ladder on the wall to the right of the door. "Guys, come on up here."

"Fine," Stu sighed. Will patted him on the shoulder as she watched Phil pull himself up the metal ladder, Doug close at his heels. She gestured for Alan and Stu to go before her, before climbing up herself, careful not to slip in her heels. Reaching the top, she felt a large hand circle her arm and help her over the last awkward rung, catching her when she stumbled.

"You alright?" Phil asked as he gently steadied her with a hand on her waist.

She cleared her throat and straightened her skirt, feeling a flush rise to her cheeks as she felt the heat of his hand. "Yeah, thanks."

His hand tightened on her as she tried to move away, and his voice was low as he tilted his head to catch her eye, "I never got the chance to say it..." he murmured. "You look stunning."

Her heart stuttered in her chest as a full blush spread across her face, and she stammered stupidly for a moment, her defensive anger stunted by the sparkle of his blue eyes and the warmth of his body. She swallowed hard and found her voice, "You look half-decent in black," she muttered.

His brow twitched and his lips parted in surprise as he stared into her eyes, and then his face broke into that heartbreaking grin that annihilated her every defence.

"Right," he chuckled, his blue eyes shining.

Will felt lightheaded, and felt herself inching forward, drawn toward him like a moth to a brilliant flame. Then her brother's voice broke through the mist, bringing her back to reality. She wound out of his arms with an uneven breath, shaking herself as she moved quickly away, looking about for a grounding face.

"How the hell did you find this place?" Doug laughed.

"Don't worry about it," Phil said, sounding entirely distracted as he stared at Will where she rubbed her forehead and avoided his gaze.

Doug clapped, shaking his head. "Look at the view up here!"

Phil blinked and tore his eyes away to grin at his friend, "You happy?" he asked, stretching out a hand.

Doug clasped it, letting Phil drag him into a bro-hug. "This is great," he told him.

"Whoa!" Stu cried, coming out of his silent amazement as he stopped beside Will, Vegas lights reflecting in his glasses. "Are you kidding?!"

Phil laughed, scratching his nose as the four of them moved to stand by the far edge of the room, standing shoulder to shoulder as they gazed out across the city bustling city, alive with lights and sounds and people. Phil looked around and noticed that Alan had yet to join them.

"Alan, how you doin', buddy?" he called, and they turned to see him by the ladder, pulling out the bottle and a tower of shotglasses from the plastic bag.

"Good," Alan replied distractedly.

"What you got over there, Alan?" Doug asked.

"That's the Eiffel Tower," Stu pointed out to Will.

"Yeah, we saw it on the way in," she smiled, bumping his shoulder. "It looks great from up here."

"Uh oh!" Doug cried excitedly, and they gathered around as Alan approached. "A little Jägermeister! Good idea."

"There it is!" Stu grinned, looking impressed. "Good call!"

"...On the roof," Will chuckled a little nervously, glancing at Doug who rolled his eyes reassuringly. Alan handed each a glass and then poured the alcohol.

"No, this is good," Stu said as Alan put the bottle aside. "I'd like to make a toast," he declared, raising his glass toward Doug. "To Doug and Tracy. May tonight be..." he tilted his head with a cheeky smile, "but a _minor _speed-bump in an otherwise long and healthy marriage."

Doug grinned at his friend as they each raised their glasses, crying "Cheers!" as they gently clinked them together in the middle of their circle before they took a collective breath and threw them back. There was a chorus of groans, gasps and winces as the alcohol burned down their throats, the licorice flavour thick in their mouths.

"Oh, it's like college," Stu gasped, before clearing his throat and looking pointedly to the cringing woman at his side. "Will?"

"What, me?" she coughed a bit, licking her lips thoughtfully as Alan refilled their glasses. "Um, okay," she laughed nervously. "Doug... you're my brother, but you're also my best friend," she said, looking into his baby-blue eyes. "And I don't know where I'd be without you. So, I wish you and Tracy all the happiness and luck in the world. Because you deserve it." She forced back the instinctual tears as he smiled crookedly at her, tilting his head, clearly touched.

"Amen," Phil said, raising his glass.

"Cheers!" they chorused as they toasted, and then downed their second shot for the night.

Once recovered, Phil spoke up, scratching his nose. "Alright," Phil smiled. "I want to talk about something—"

"_I'd like to_—" Alan said loudly, effectively cutting Phil off. "I'd like to say something..."

Phil stared at Alan incredulously, clearly insulted by the blatant interruption. Doug bit his lip as Stu and Will shared a disbelieving glance.

The oblivious man continued, "That I've prepared. Tonight." He pulled a crumpled paper out of his pocket, fumbling as Doug reached out and patted a disgruntled Phil.

"Alright, Alan," Stu said tightly, sending a sympathetic look toward his friend.

Doug and Stu's heads twitched with mild irritation as Alan unfolded the paper, tearing it slightly as he did so. Will cleared her throat as they waited with careful patience as Alan began.

"Hello," he read. "How 'bout that ride in? I guess that's why they call it Sin City. Ha ha ha."

Doug and Stu smiled encouragingly, finding their patience, while Phil glanced at them with dull humour as Alan spoke an awkward laugh. Will bit her cheek and joined the others in taking a bracing breath.

"You guys may not know this but I consider myself a bit of a loner. I tend to think of myself as a one-man wolf pack."

All smiles faded as he continued, and Will could see the concentration it took to wipe the condescending and pained looks from Stu and Doug's faces, while Phil stood with a bewildered and slightly affronted expression on his face.

"But when my sister brought Doug home, I knew he was one of my own."

Stu smiled and clapped a confounded looking Doug on the shoulder, who smiled as he comprehended what Alan was trying to say.

"And my wolf pack, it grew by one. And then a few weeks later I met Will, and I added another into my wolf pack. So there were three—there were three of us in the wolf pack. I was one—alone first, in the pack, and then Doug joined in later and then Will joined in even later, after that."

Phil squinted at the sky a moment, before turning to stare at Will with a strained, perplexed smile. Will cringed in second-hand embarrassment, looking into her shot glass to see if there were any alcohol she could drown herself in.

"And six months ago," Alan continued, his voice rising with his excitement, "when Doug introduced me to you guys. I thought, w-wait a second, could it be? And now, I know for sure, I just added two more guys to my wolf pack."

Doug cracked up, pressing a fist to his mouth as Stu nodded, chuckling while he glanced at a stiff and patiently smiling Phil.

"Alright," Doug nudged Phil, as he and Stu nodded at Alan, who continued still.

"Five of us, wolves... Running around the desert together, in Las Vegas. Looking for strippers and cocaine."

Stu's eyebrows shot up and Will chuckled quietly, bumping shoulders as Doug smiled.

"So, tonight... I make a toast—" There was a loud _shick _and they each took an step back in alarm, as Alan suddenly produced a switchblade, holding it high in one hand, and holding his other flat in the air.

"What?!" Stu cried, as the others chuckled nervously.

"What have you got there?" Doug asked, but before he could finish, they shouted in shock and horror as Alan pressed the blade to the flat of his hand. Doug grabbed Phil as they stumbled back, and Stu stood and shrieked, his mouth wide as he nearly tripped over Will, who let out a strangled squeak.

Alan watched the blade sink into his flesh, breathing heavily with determination in his eyes as he dragged it across his hand. "Oh, _yeah_," he laughed.

"Oh, man."

"What the fuck, dude?"

"What are you _doing_?"

They shrank away as Alan gave an almost orgasmic groan as blood dripped from his hand; clutching their glasses, their faces twisted in horror and disgust.

"_What is that?"_ Stu cried as Alan pulled the knife away, wet with his blood.

His eyes, hazed with determined craziness, fixed upon them.

"Blood brothers," he said, his voice serious as he wiggled his injured hand.

"God dammit," Doug winced.

"Don't—Why did you do that?" Stu shouted.

"Alan—" Will whimpered.

"Here," Alan offered the blade to Stu, who backed away, looking pale.

"_No!_"

"No, Alan," Doug asserted.

"I'm not doing that!" Stu cried, his voice warbling with horror.

"Go ahead, Stuart."

"Make him stop!" Stu plead.

"Alan," Doug stepped forward. "We're not going to cut ourselves. Give me the knife." He reached out hesitantly, and pried the blade from Alan's hand. "Slowly. Thank you."

Alan hissed loudly as the pain began to sink in. Will pressed her hand to her mouth, feeling a little light-headed as they watched the man grit his teeth and clutch his bleeding flesh.

"Thank you very much," Doug breathed, placing the knife on the edge of the roof behind him.

"Ah," Alan breathed. "Ow. Oh god."

"You alright?" Phil asked, grimacing as Alan brought his hand to his mouth and began to lick the blood. "You okay?"

Alan nodded, "Mmhmm." Inspecting his hand he shook his head at Will. "I don't know how you can do that to yourself. It hurts so much."

Will blinked, her face falling as she felt the others' eyes on her. With a deep breath, she closed her eyes and slowly shook her head, regretting telling Alan a goddamn thing. She rubbed her forehead, shifting uncomfortably. What a stupid fucking prick.

"Alright, do you need a doctor?" Phil asked, coming to stand by Alan, a hand on his shoulder.

"He's fine," Doug said, his voice rather tight as he watched his sister's bristling form. "_He's good_."

"You sure?" Phil checked.

"I'm good," Alan reasserted through the hand over his mouth.

Stu reached out to draw Will close as they reformed their circle, winding an arm about her shoulder and rubbing her arm as he looked at her questioningly. She nodded to his silent inquiry and sighed, trying to shrug it off.

"Alright, Alan come here," Phil said, stepping into the circle.

"Get in here, crazy," Stu called, still looking disturbed as Phil picked up the bottle of Jägermeister and refilled their shot glasses. Tensions died down and Phil took a breath, holding the bottle in one hand raising his glass in the other.

A slow grin grew across his face as the alcohol began to pump through their systems, his blue eyes looking around at his friends as they stood in a circle on the roof of Caesar's Palace. Will found herself smiling back, her eyes dancing with anticipation of what she knew would be the night of all nights; the old gang back together again for one last crazy night before Doug married the woman he loved, Stu proposed to the worst woman alive, and she never saw Phil again.

Their eyes were bright, their smiles wide as their glasses clinked and they downed the brown liquid.

"To a night the five of us will never forget."


	5. Hangover

Will Billings was in pain.

Her mouth tasted like rot, her teeth felt loose, her tongue was covered with fur. Her brain was seeping out of her ears, and someone had replaced the empty space in her head with a boom box which throbbed through her skull, rattling her teeth and thrumming down the bones of her spine. Her eyes were shrivelled in their sockets, dry and itchy, and her nose burned.

It was gently coming to the forefront in her mind as her brain fought through the layers of exhaustion, confusion and unconsciousness, that anything louder than absolute silence was more than her considerably high pain tolerance could stand. Beyond the steadily building agony that was the waking world, she realised that she was pressed into a hard floor, but her front was no better off. While her back was cold, the solid weight on her front was impossibly warm.

It was also breathing.

"Oh, what the fuck," she groaned, and the weight atop her shifted.

Hot air caressed her shoulder as a nose burrowed into the crook of her neck, soft hair brushing her chin, and the arm that was wound around her waist tightened. The weight, which was a person—a _man_, moaned, the sound vibrating within his chest, and she opened her eyes to blink blearily at the roof as she felt the reverberations pass through her body, where it was trapped beneath his.

She could tell that she was completely nude beneath him, and that the warm weight on her inner thigh was a part of this man she presently preferred to completely ignore, but with the pain which pulsated through every inch of her body, and her struggle to make sense of her position in the world, or even to focus her eyes on what appeared to be a giant red plush dice hanging from a broken light shade above her, she couldn't find the capacity to care.

The gentle tinkling of liquid hitting liquid reached her ears and she turned her head to blink into what appeared to be the bathroom, where Alan Garner stood in front of the toilet, completely naked from the waist down, peeing. Her stomach lurched violently and she closed her eyes against the sight of his pale, hairy ass, as her entire world spun like she was on some demented carnival ride from hell.

A deep ache had begun to set in her muscles, and she could feel the areas which were worse than others, where bruises had no doubt formed as result of activities she could no longer remember. And she couldn't remember. As she lied on the floor of the villa suite of Caesar's Palace, completely naked beneath a similarly naked, as of yet unidentifiable man, Will Billings could not remember a single thing about the night previous.

There was a high, strangled scream, a flash of pale white and the slam of the bathroom door, and Will opened her bloodshot eyes in time to see Alan flee the bathroom, and felt it when his foot caught in the side of the man above her, who jerked awake with a loud grunt. Alan tripped onto his face with a painful thump.

The man rolled off of her, curling in on himself, swearing as he sat up. Will gasped at the sudden lack of heat, reaching up to cover her bare chest with one arm as she blearily tugged at the grey doona they had been covered with, pulling it over her as her stomach lurched again and she pressed a hand to her eyes as her head spun sickeningly.

"Control yourself, man," she heard the man sitting beside her groan over Alan's frightened whimpers and squeals. "Goddamn, would you put on some pants?!"

"Phil, do not go in the bathroom!"

Will's eyes flew open.

"Now, just calm down."

"Phil, there is a _tiger_ in the bathroom!"

With a severe reluctance and a deep, bone-chilling dread filling every inch of her being, Will lowered her hand and turned to stare at the hunched back of the man beside her. Her mind didn't register Alan's high pitched shrieks, or the fact that he was dancing around in panic, wearing only socks, his shirt and a necklace of colourful beads.

Her eyes settled on the smooth, slightly bruised skin on the man's back, and denial hit her like a freight train. Because she knew the curve of that spine, and the slope of those shoulders and the dip of that neck. Her eyes hadn't even reached the back of the disastrously familiar head of hair before she was one-thousand percent certain of the identity of the man she had woken naked beneath.

She watched in horrified, sickened silence, sure that this had to be some kind of feverish nightmare, as he looked down and adjusted himself, tucking himself in, his belt visibly loose, running a hand through his hair as he turned and blinked at the mess of cushions and blankets they had nested themselves in.

And then the blue eyes—bluer still by the harsh redness which rimmed his eyes and nose, of Phil Wenneck met hers, and he froze, his thin lips parting and his eyes widening as he took her in, the gears in his mind slowly ticking before he at last, came to the same terrible realisation that she had.

"Holy shit," he said as his eyes dropped to her bare shoulders, his eyes wide and shining blue. "Are you—?"

"This can't be happening," she groaned, covering her face with her hands. She felt sick. Sicker than sick. This was a fucking travesty. How could this _happen?_ She rolled over, wrapping the blankets around her as she buried herself in the army of pillows around them. "No," she moaned into the soft threads. "No, no, no, no, _no..."_

"Holy fuck, did we—? Shit. Holy shit. Will."

"What's going on?" Stu was heard in the distance, sounding completely out of it.

"_There's a jungle cat in the bathroom!" _Alan shrieked.

"Will, hey. Will, look at me. It's okay." She felt a large, warm hand on her bare back, but she shook her head, pressing her palms to her face, and tucking her head beneath a pillow, releasing a sound that was somewhere between a miserable groan and a pitiful sob. "Will, we'll figure this out, okay? Come on, talk to me."

"Fucking shit," she mumbled beneath the layers of her mortification and distress. "Fuckitty shit-balls motherfucking shit."

"It's okay. It's alright. Will, look at me," she heard his voice near her head, his warm hand splayed across the skin of her back. Her head throbbed, but the pain was secondary to the agony of what they had done. "Did I hurt you?"

"What?" she grunted, lifting her head at his strained tone. Her dark hair was loose and messy as it curtained her face. She felt his breath on her shoulder and couldn't stop the tingle which tickled down her back. "No," she mumbled, "I don't—I don't think so. No."

"Okay, good," he said quietly, his voice soothing as his thumb rubbing circles across her shoulder blade. "You alright?"

"No," she moaned, dropping her face back to the pillow.

"Okay."

She felt his hands move to her shoulders and begin to pull and she clutched the blanket to her chest as he turned and sat her upright. Her stomach recoiled violently and she groaned sickly from beneath the veil of long, knotted and slightly greasy hair as he held her in a seated position. She blinked sluggishly down the hall, staring at what appeared to be a homemade bowling alley with wine-bottles for pins, beside which sat a live chicken, pecking at a chip on the otherwise filthy tiles.

Phil sifted through the sheets and pillows, flicking off a blanket and pulling it around her shoulders, wrapping it twice. "Let's just wrap this around you," he said, more to himself as he worked. Will was busy staring at the chicken. "There we go."

His hands found her shoulders again, and her hazy gaze shifted to meet his vibrant blue eyes as he smiled reassuringly at her where she sat on the ground of their suite, naked and wrapped from chin to toe like a burrito. By Phil. "We'll find you some clothes," he told her, rubbing her arm comfortingly.

"Phil!" Alan shrieked, still dancing and pointing, his red-rimmed eyes shining with urgency. "There's a tiger! _A tiger!_"

"Okay!" Phil snapped, turning to frown at the bearded man. "Okay, I'll check it out," he said, clambering to his feet with a wince. "I'll—I'll check it out!" He glanced around the room dazedly for a moment before turning on his heel, his arms outstretched for balance as he stumbled across their makeshift bed and went to open the bathroom door.

Will stared groggily around to watch Alan hop from one foot to the other, whimpering as he held down his shirt at the front to cover what little of his modesty was left, eyes wide as he watched Phil enter the bathroom. "Alright, don't go in! Don't go—Don't go in! Be careful! Don't! Don't!" he panted.

Will swerved her head to stare hazily through the swirling colours, rocking unsteadily on her backside as the room swayed as if she were on a boat, and managed to focus on the dark of Phil's pants. There was a ringing in her ears as she tucked her chin into the blanket around her, and all she could truly register was that Phil was not wearing any shoes.

The bathroom door creaked open, and Phil half-stepped inside. There was an inhuman sound of discontent and Will jumped as the door was suddenly slammed shut. "Oh!" Phil cried, pulling the doorhandle tight, his bare feet slipping slightly on a sheet as he backed away from the door. "Oh ho! Holy _fuck! _He's not kidding around, there's a tiger in there!"

Will whimpered, not at the incredible news, but at the volume of his outburst. She closed her eyes and buried her chin further into the blanket, leaning forward with a pained moan as Phil stumbled across the room, laughing in astonishment.

"No, there isn't," Stu slurred quietly in the distance.

"Yeah!" Alan shrieked. "It's big! _Gigantic_!"

She heard the still-laughing Phil approach, his arms wrapping around her and helping her to her feet. She resisted weakly. "Will, come on," he said, smiling persistently as she recoiled and tried to crumple childishly through the circle of his arms and back to the ground. He tightened his grip, getting her mostly upright before dragging her along at his side. "Come on the couch. You don't wanna sit too close to the bathroom right now."

"Did he say tiger?" she mumbled, feeling only half-alive.

"Yeah," he chuckled, sounding far too excited than was appropriate for such a situation. "Yeah, there's a tiger in there."

"What the fuck," she groaned as he lowered her onto the grey couch in the middle of the room. She noticed that at some point between waking and helping her up, he had found a pale blue shirt, which he wore open, revealing the dark hair on his chest, and the gentle, seductive lines of his pectoral and abdominal muscles.

"Yeah," he agreed, collapsing into the chair beside her, apparently far more relaxed than she. "Hey, Stu. You okay, buddy?"

Will lifted her head and saw first the glass coffee table, scratched to hell, and covered in packets of chips, half-finished cans and glasses of drink, bowls of melted ice-cream and a various array of rubbish, which continued over the edge of the table and across the floor of the entire suite.

There was a footstool suspended in the air by a complex arrangement of bedsheets, and beyond it was the bar, which was completely trashed; the shelves of alcohol empty, the TV hanging on an angle, showing nothing but static, while a mess of red plastic cups rolled lazily about at the foot of the stone statues in the corner, one of which had been dressed in a toga and a sparkly golden hat, while the other was done up like Elvis Presley circa '77.

The grand piano appeared mostly intact, but was covered in cups and yardglasses and several items she could only identify as bongs. The curtains were torn and hanging brokenly from the windows, and beyond the white pillars and another broken TV, inflatable sex dolls and other toys could be seen floating lazily in the overflowing Jacuzzi. And the chair in the corner was on fire.

She was blinking confusedly at the homemade swing in the centre of the room, wondering how someone had managed it, when something close to her moved. Her world shifted and rocked and spun as she turned her head to find Stu Price, alive and well, and looking just as, if not worse, than she felt.

"No," Stu said, with a stunned shake of his head, blinking with red eyes behind his dirt-smudged spectacles. "I am in so much pain right now. Hey, Will," he greeted.

Her mouth slightly agape in her groggy, pained and befuddled state, she stared for a long moment at her friend. He looked rather well put together, his hair was in disarray, but he was fully clothed, which couldn't be said for the rest of them, and his glasses, though dirty, were intact. Her eyes fell to a smeared patch of what looked like rust on the shoulder of his grey shirt.

"Stu," she mumbled, shifting where she perched unsteadily on the edge of the couch, "you've got blood on you."

"I got—" Stu frowned and looked down at himself, and then looked back at her, squinting at the doona she was covered with, "Are you _naked_?"

"Yeah, we're gonna find her something to wear," Phil said from her side, tugging the silky grey doona tighter around her shoulders, tucking in the corners so it wouldn't slide off. "Let's just sit here a minute and..." He let out a breath, gazing about in wonder. "God damn. Look at this place."

"I'd rather not," Will muttered, wincing at the ground. Phil stretched an arm behind her, his hand on her lower back as Stu looked about in steadily growing hysteria.

"I know," he moaned, putting his head in his hands and massaging his temples, his entire form tense. "Phil, they have my credit card downstairs. I am so _screwed_."

"I mean how does—How does a tiger get in the bathroom?" Alan was squealing from near the bathroom door. Still clothed in little but socks and a shirt, his eyes were frantic as he paced. "He almost killed me!"

"Hey bro," Phil called as he picked up a can of energy drink from the coffee table. "You mind putting on some pants? I find it a little weird I have to ask twice."

"Pants at a time like this?" Alan muttered to himself as Phil turned back to inspect the room with a distraught-looking Stu. "I don't have any..." Their bearded friend, with colourful beads still around his neck, kicked at the pile of bedding in the hall and pulled out a sheet, distractedly wrapping it around his waist before stumbling off into one of the rooms.

"What the fuck happened last night?" Phil wondered aloud, taking a sip of the energy drink before sitting back, his eyes filled with what looked too much like pride as he adjusted his shirt and reached over to rest what she supposed was a comforting hand on Will's wrapped thigh.

"Hey, guys?" Stu stammered, shifting to face them as he brought a hand to his mouth. "Am I missing a tooth?"

Phil leant forward, frowning as he peered at Stu's face as the dentist bared his teeth, "I can't—Holy shit!" Phil gasped, covering his mouth as Will's eyes grew as wide as Stu's. Phil muffled his laughter as Stu frantically tipped over a platter with a reflective surface and gazed at his mouth, where all could see, plain as day, the bloody hole to the right of his front teeth where a tooth used to be.

"Oh my god," Stu said, almost deranged in his panic as he used one finger to hold back his lip and stare at the hole from every angle, as if he hoped if he looked long enough, the tooth would reappear. When it didn't, he lowered the platter and looked to Phil and Will, his blue eyes wild. "My lateral incisor! It's _gone_!"

"Holy fuck," Will breathed, staring at her friend's bloody lip.

"Okay!" Phil raised his hands, quickly smothering his amusement as he tried to calm his friend. "Okay, okay, we just need to just—just calm down. We're fine. Everything's fine." He looked around as Stu stared in horror at his bloody gum. "Alan! Go wake up Doug," Phil winced and rubbed his eyes, "Let's just get some coffee and just get the fuck out of Nevada before housekeeping shows."

"What am I gonna tell Melissa?" Stu demanded, staring at Phil, who had again picked up the energy drink Will couldn't believe he was touching in the first place, and was squinting around, clearly in as much pain as the rest. "I lost a tooth and I have no idea how it happened," Stu cried.

"You're freaking me out, man," Phil complained. "I got a massive headache, okay? Let's just calm down." He glanced to the quiet girl beside him, who watched Stu inspect his mouth through squinted eyes, her mouth slightly agape as she breathed through the aching and throbbing pain that encompassed her entire body. "Will, you doin' alright?"

"Everything hurts and I'm dying," was her garbled answer.

"How am I supposed to _calm down_?" A stricken Stu cried, the platter limp in his hand. "Look around you!"

"Hey guys?" Alan called from across the room, a bed sheet tied around his waist. He pointed a thumb over his shoulder, in the direction of Doug's room. "He's not in there."

"Did you check all the rooms?" Phil asked.

"Yeah, I looked everywhere," Alan nodded. "Plus, his mattress is gone. It's..." he laughed and shrugged.

Will sat up straighter, her face pulling into a frown as she blinked at a mildly concerned Alan, and a gaping Stu, her own alarm belated as she looked around to squint at Phil, who shrugged and squeezed her arm briefly as he dug into the pocket of his pants.

"Oh, whatever," he said to the suddenly quiet room. "Look, he probably went to the pool to get something to eat. I'll just call his cell."

As Phil messed with his phone, Will wriggled until she could scratch at her nose through the gap between the doona and her chin, and Stu returned to staring at himself in the platter, whining quietly, "I look like a nerdy hillbilly."

Phil laughed as he pressed the phone to his ear, running a hand through his hair as he waited. From the other side of the room, a phone rang.

They turned to watch Alan look about and find the phone, frowning at it a moment before answering, "Hello?"

"Alan."

"Hey," Alan greeted him.

"Oh my god," Will mumbled, closing her eyes against his stupidity.

Phil blinked incredulously at the oblivious man, "It's Phil."

"Oh, hey Phil—" Alan stopped and pulled the phone from his ear, looking down at it with a look of dawning realisation. "This is Doug's phone—this is Doug's phone!"

"No shit," Phil grumbled. Will stared between Phil and Alan, feeling the steadily mounting panic bubble in her chest, but the mixture of nausea, disorientation and hurt did well to quell it.

"Yeah," Alan nodded, returning Doug's phone to the bench where he found it. Phil sighed and scowled at his phone, and Will opened her mouth but before she could ask what they were going to do, the unmistakeable cry of a human baby suddenly resounded through the completely trashed hotel room. Everyone froze.

"What _the fuck_ is _that?_" Stu ground out, turning to stare in horror at an equally stunned-looking Phil. The two men dived from the couches, hurrying toward Alan and following the cries to a closed door. Will sat motionless on the couch, gazing around and trying to remember anything that happened last night. She heard a chorus of dismay and struggled to her feet, shuffling carefully around the coffee table and slowly making her way to stand beside Phil, where he, Stu and Alan stood in the doorway of the closet, staring down in disbelief at a baby, bundled in blue blankets, its tiny face red as it kicked its legs and cried loudly.

"Whose fuckin' baby is that?" Phil asked, sounding exasperated.

"Alan, are you sure you didn't see anyone else in the suite?" Stu asked.

"Yeah, I checked all the rooms. No one's here," Alan answered, not taking his eyes off the screaming child. He nodded toward it as Phil sighed shortly and put his hands on his hips. "Check its collar or something."

"Shhh," Stu soothed, stepping forward and patting the baby's leg gently. "It's okay, baby."

Phil grimaced, rubbing his forehead and glancing at Will, where she wobbled slightly, staring at wide eyes at the red-faced baby. She felt an arm wind around her waist to rest lightly on her hip, steadying her, but she couldn't get past her disbelief that they had found an actual live human _baby _in the closet of their suite. In comparison, the chicken and the tiger were nothing.

"Look, Stu we don't have time for this," Phil said impatiently. "Let's go hook up with Doug, we'll deal with the baby later."

"Phil," Stu said as he turned on him, his face slack in disbelief. "We're not gonna leave a _baby _in the room, there's a fucking _tiger_ in the bathroom!"

Phil blinked at him. "It's not our baby," he shrugged.

"Dude," Will admonished him with a mumble and a shake of her head.

"Yeah," Alan nodded. "I gotta side with Stu on this one."

Phil huffed. "Alright, _fine_. Okay, we'll take it with us. Can you at least just find some pants?" he snapped at Alan, who looked down, apparently having forgotten the fact. Phil let out an irritated breath and adjusted his hold on Will. "Will, come on, we gotta find you something to wear. Where's your bag?" he asked. She tore her eyes from the baby, still frowning as Phil led her away with a hand on her back.

"In my room," she mumbled, shuffling along beside him, trying not to trip on the bottom of the blanket where it dragged along the ground and wrapped around her feet. "Oh, holy shit," she gaped as they made their way down the hall and turned the corner into the room she and Stu shared.

The paintings had been removed from the walls and now laid in tatters around the room; the various chests of drawers were missing their drawers, flowers were strewn about the carpet, the television in here was also broken, the desk was on its side and the mattress had been half-shoved into the closet. And Will didn't even want to _look_ at the bathroom.

"What the fuck happened?" she mumbled to herself as Phil whistled and stepped further into the room, gazing about searchingly.

"No idea. Bag?"

"It was by the window," she replied distractedly, as she peered at the closet and the mattress standing on an angle within it. Sheets were stretched over the mess, almost purposefully and as she looked, she could see a tattered piece of paper on which was scribbled '_No boyz alowwed!'_ in familiar handwriting.

"Here," Phil grunted, pulling out her duffel-bag, thankfully closed and intact, from beneath the bed. He threw it on top of the mattress-less bed and heaved himself noisily from his hands and knees, leaning heavily on the edge of the bed for support. "You gotta have a change of clothes—_Holy shit.._."

She blinked at him in mild alarm as he froze in mid-motion, staring straight at her with eyes that shone like brilliant jewels. "What?" she asked weakly, trying to ignore the curl in her stomach as he gazed at her so intently and unwaveringly, kneeling there before her on one knee in the midst of a chaos they could not remember, as she stood draped only in the blankets upon which they spent the night together.

"You—You look..." he stammered, blinking almost dazedly as he struggled to find the words. At last, he chuckled softly, running a hand through his bedraggled hair as the strange intense expression left his face and was replaced by eyes that sparkled with male pride and lips that widened into a rakish grin. "I really did a number on you, huh?"

Her breath caught in her chest as he smirked up at her, and she could feel the blush heat her cheeks as her heart thudded unevenly in her chest. Her sore eyes hardened behind her narrowed lashes. "Well, I wouldn't know, Phil," she drawled, her voice tight as her teeth ground together. "Because I can't _fucking_ _remember_."

He chuckled with a wince as he rose to his feet, his eyes never leaving her. "It's alright," he soothed, stepping closer to take her gently by the upper arms, his thumbs rubbing circles into her shoulders as he stared down at her with those vibrant blue orbs that seemed to fill her mind, and make her feel like there was no one else in the world but them, and nothing else but this moment. She blinked angrily and focussed instead on what he was saying. "We'll figure it out. Just get changed, you can have a shower, get cleaned up, and then we'll all go down to the pool and find Doug and figure it all out, okay?"

Will drew in a deep breath through her nose, her eyes fixed determinedly on Phil's chin, ignoring his blatant attempts to catch her gaze. "Okay," she nodded.

"Alright," he smiled. "I'll be right outside if you need me."

Will frowned, wondering what the hell she would possibly need him for, when he suddenly pulled her flush against him, ducked his head and pressed a soft, lingering kiss on the corner of her mouth. Will's mind flat-lined and failed completely to comprehend what was happening and why he was standing so close and why his lips were on hers until he pulled away with a sigh, his eyes closed as he rested his forehead against hers and simply held her.

Will's eyes remained open as she stood stiff and silent in his arms, completely incapable of even taking a breath until his eyes fluttered open to meet her wide, stunned and steady stare. Seeing her expression, Phil backed up a step, enough to create a wall of space between their bodies, but not enough that she couldn't smell the alcohol on his breath, or see the glitter in the scruff on his jaw, or feel the heat of his hands on her arms where they slowly moved up and down the smooth fabric of the doona. She was grateful that he was not stroking her bare skin. She could barely function, could barely think. If his skin had continued to touch hers in any capacity, Will wasn't sure that she wouldn't fall dead on the spot.

As it was, she was unable to speak, though she tried. Her mouth opened as the words filled her mind in a tumble, tripping over each other and crumbling into a jumble consisting primarily of '_!' _and primal screaming, yet nothing escaped her but a shaky breath.

Phil's eyes fell to her mouth, and she saw his tongue run over his lips before his gaze returned to her own.

"God, I forgot how beautiful you are," he mumbled quietly, leaning forward to press his lips to her forehead. She stared at his throat as his breath ghosted across her face. "We'll figure it out," he promised as he pulled back to stare into her eyes. Will's chest seemed to cave in on itself, her heart stuttering and her lungs fluttering, both as useless as the other as his face broke into a smile brighter than the sun and her mind was suddenly blank of every thought but, '_So fucking handsome.'_

Her eyes seemed glued to his as he slowly released her, stepping away and moving reluctantly toward the door. Will searched his face, her blood pounding through her aching brain with the sheer hopethat she would find _something _in his eyes, and yet stricken with terror that she would look too deep and find _nothing, _just as she had so many times before_._

"Phil—" she heard herself say, but was cut off by the uncertainty, the confusion and the painful memory of a thousand kisses just like this, shared between them so long ago.

But now he stood there, with eyes bloodshot and rimmed with red, in his dirty blue work shirt hanging loosely from his shoulders and black slacks that were still unbuckled, and he grinned at her as if all those years had never passed, and nothing had changed.

"I know," he told her, and stepped out the door, closing it behind him.

Will stumbled as the door clicked shut, and then tripped and collapsed onto the bare wooden frame of the bed beside her duffle-bag. Everything ached. Her teeth were sore, her mouth bone-dry, her muscles felt torn, her skin was a giant bruise and a jackhammer was going to work on the back of her skull, the vibrations thundering down her back and spreading across her body in a cacophony of agony and inescapable suffering. Squeezing her eyes shut, she caught her breath but was too overwhelmed to form coherent thought, so she simply moved.

She groaned deeply as she wiggled her arms out from the doona, holding it to her chest as she turned and pulled the duffel-bag to her, unzipping it and beginning to rifle through. Picking out the first things she saw, she clambered to her feet and staggered into the room's private bathroom, and was legitimately surprised to find that aside from the shaving cream smiley face on the mirror above the sink, it was relatively untouched, that is, in comparison to the rest of the suite.

Locking the door, she placed her clean clothes on the bathroom bench and then reached into the shower to turn on the tap. Then she loosened the doona from around her body, and let it fall to the ground. She hadn't intended to look at herself in the mirror; she could _feel _how awful she looked, but when she caught a glimpse, she nearly fell over in her shock.

Her body was a fucking painting. Purples and blues and yellows and greens adorned her skin, and she wondered if she hadn't spent the night simply lying on the ground and letting a gang of people beat the shit out of her. But as she stepped closer to the mirror, she began to make sense of the bruises as she noticed the amount of pinks and reds which were stark against the pale of her skin.

The clue was in the location of the marks; her hips, her shoulders, her stomach, chest and collarbone, and worst of all, on her neck. Some bruises stood apart from rest, and were clearly as a result of more serious injury; on her knees, another on her right rib, and the biggest on her left thigh. But the majority were relatively small, and from the evidence between her legs and on her inner thighs, it was not awfully difficult to deduce the activity responsible for their creation. Will stood and stared, mortified and appalled, at the dozens of hickeys and love bites that speckled her body.

And as terrible as this was, it certainly did not top that which she discovered as she investigated the ache on her lower back. She twisted and turned, figuring that it must be another bruise, or perhaps a graze, but no. Will shrieked and clamped a hand over her mouth, gasping in horror as she saw the ink, red and black, clear as anything on the pale skin of her lower back, clearly fresh as it sat in her skin, no matter how she blinked and swore and danced about in panic, hoping that she was hallucinating.

She could not have a tattoo.

Worse. A tramp stamp.

_Worse; _a red heart with a name in black cursive.

And what name would it possibly be? Who else was out to destroy her sanity and ruin her life?

Phil.

_Fucking_ Phil.

With tears in her eyes, boiling over with frustration and dismay, and absolutely determined that no one was _ever to know, _all that she could do was swear vehemently and step into the shower, where she proceeded lather her entire form with every bottle of soap available, until she no longer smelled like a bar, or felt like a nightclub floor. She scrubbed her teeth and her mouth, along with every inch of her body until her skin was red, her head was throbbing but clear, and she felt like Will Billings once more.

She had thrown up in the bottom of the shower twice by the time she was done, and she still felt like death as she stepped out and wrapped herself in the plush white hotel towels. But, feeling fresh as can be expected, she hurriedly dried herself, roughly rubbing a towel over her hair before leaving it to air-dry as she pulled on her clothes; a pair of jeans and a tank-top.

Returning to the room, she scoured her bag for her wallet, checking that her card was inside before slipping it into her pocket along with her phone, and then tugged a baggy but fashionable jumper over her head to hide her arms and torso. After a moment's hesitation, she returned to the bathroom with her concealer to go to work covering the marks on her neck.

Once deeming herself appropriate to be seen in public, she tugged on a pair of socks and her converse; put her sunglasses on her head, re-packed her duffel-bag and trudged out to find the others.

"Well, you certainly look more human," Stu commented from the sofa.

She dropped the duffel-bag by the hall, eyeing the torn chair, the rather impressive house of cards and the 'Las Vegas Blvd' street sign which sat beside a mess of glasses, wrappers and chair fluff on top of the dining table to her left, as she approached her exhausted friend.

"Yeah, well, I _feel_ like shit," she said, falling onto the same grey sofa where she and Phil had sat half an hour prior, wincing slightly at the sting of the tattoo. Stu sighed heavily but was otherwise silent as they each stared at the room.

"Heh, look, a chicken," Alan laughed, now fully dressed in the exact clothes he was wearing last night, but now sporting a large pair of blublocker sunglasses, and with the baby they had found in the closet strapped to his chest.

"Whoa, is that safe?" Stu asked, glancing at Will. "Letting Alan hold the baby? I mean, you do know how to carry a baby, right?"

Alan sniffed, putting his hands on his hips and raising his chin, looking rather ruffled. "I've held babies before."

Stu snorted. "Did any of them survive?"

"Stu, if he wants to carry the kid, let him," Will sighed, squinting as she stretched out her legs and watched Alan preen before them.

"Okay," Stu scoffed. "Just try not to drop it."

Will looked at her disgruntled friend, eyeing the blood on his shirt. "How's your face?"

Stu stared at her dryly. "I've lost a tooth, Will."

"Right, sorry," she winced. "You get some ice?"

He raised a fabric napkin filled with ice wordlessly and she decided to just stay quiet in the face of his impatient irritation. Stu huffed and turned away from her, but they didn't sit in awkward silence for long before Phil emerged with a freshly washed face, his eyes and nose red and irritated, and slightly wet hair, wearing the same clothes; the blue shirt now buttoned, the pants buckled and dark shoes on his feet.

"Alright," he clapped, his aviators bouncing where they hung from his top button. "Ready to go?"


	6. Recovery

Will sighed miserably from where she slouched in the corner of the elevator, her glasses over her eyes in an attempt to do anything to alleviate the pain in her head.

Her sensitive stomach roiled and swam within her belly, with even the slightest movement of the elevator, while the white light seared her tired, itchy eyes like daggers and her entire skull throbbed.

She cradled a bottle of water, knowing that she should be trying to get as much fluid into her body as she could, but she wasn't sure she wouldn't throw it back up immediately. She moaned, wondering if she should just give in and go straight to the hospital. This was as close to death as she could imagine without actually being dead.

"Will, you alright?" she heard Phil ask from the other side of the elevator, where he stood in his own world of pain and misery.

"Fuck off," she grumbled, the pain in her lower back throbbing as a shameful reminder of what she had woken up to. She rubbed her forehead as she fought off the persistent realisation of what had actually and truly happened last night struggled its way to the forefront of her mind. She had no interest in entertaining such thoughts, or in talking to the reason for their existence, or even acknowledging _his_ existence.

"Why can't we remember a goddamn thing from last night?" Stu said. She opened her eyes, raising her head and squinting over at her friend who leaned a hand against the elevator wall, holding his homemade icepack to the side of his face. She thought he should probably count himself lucky that it wasn't more swollen. Guess it means he didn't lose it in a fight.

"Because we obviously had a great fucking time," Phil said, obnoxiously. "Why don't you just stop worrying for one minute? Be proud of yourself."

"Oh, fuck _off_," Will scoffed angrily.

"I don't know, Phil," Stu sighed, dropping his hand from the wall and glancing down at the icepack. "Maybe it's cause I'm missing a tooth. Or maybe," he continued thoughtfully, his voice dripping with sarcasm, "it's because there's a tiger in our hotel room. Which, incidentally is completely destroyed. Oh, no, no, no. Wait, wait, wait," he said, as Phil rubbed his face with a hand, evidently regretting opening his mouth. "_I know. _Maybe it's cause we found a baby. A human baby," he said, glancing back to look with raised brows at Phil. "That's it. That's it. It's cause we found a _fucking baby!"_

Will whimpered as Stu shouted in the small space, covering her eyes and angrily shrugging off Phil as he reached over to comfort her. Stu huffed heatedly as he pressed the icepack back to his face. Phil crossed his arms, resting his head on the wall as he gave a long sigh.

In front of her, Alan straightened, the baby strapped to his chest and his glasses on his face as he turned to Stu with a huffy look. "I don't think you should curse around the child," he said.

"Really?" Stu snapped. "I don't think you should _be_ around a child."

"Stu," Will sighed to her friend, who glanced at her shrivelled and pained form, and then turned away from Alan with a scoff.

She winced as the elevator dinged, several stops too soon, and the gold-painted doors slid open to reveal an expensive-looking older woman with great hair, white pants and a beige jacket over a pink shirt. The lady stepped onto the elevator with a wary look to the tall, glowering Stu, before coming to stand next to the stoical Alan. She smiled as she looked at the baby, who was looking around, quiet and calm in his blue outfit and white beanie, his chubby arms and legs hanging loosely in the air as he turned to stare at the woman.

"Oh, how cute!" the lady cooed. "What's his name?"

There was a moment's silence before Phil answered, "Ben."

"Carlos," Alan said, with a glance over his shoulder.

Stu blinked, squinting at Alan, "_Carlos?_"

"Fuckin' hell," Will breathed, crossing her arms and pressing her forehead to the slightly cool elevator wall.

They reached ground floor and staggered out blearily. The lady smiling serenely at them in farewell as she disappeared into the casino. Their dazed and pained group made their way toward the closest restaurant, which was poolside. Will spotted a chemist and tugged at Stu's arm, stopping him as he followed Phil and Alan out into the glaring sunshine.

"I'm gonna stop by the drugstore. You want anything?"

"A bucket of painkillers," Stu said.

"On it," she winced a laugh. "Hey, keep a look out for Doug, yeah? He should be around here somewhere."

"Yep," Stu nodded, and they went their separate ways.

/

"Okay, I got Alka-Seltzer, aspirin, ibuprofen, electrolytes. Take your pick." Will said, tipping out the plastic bag filled with boxes out onto the table, giving it a noisy shake for good measure before throwing herself into the chair with a loud grunt. She shifted uncomfortably in her jumper, scowling at the too warm and too bright sun.

"We got coffee, juice, and breakfast with enough grease to kill a small animal on the way," Phil reported from across the table, leaning forward to pick through the pills.

"Hey, what are these?" Alan asked, frowning at a box.

"Those, Alan," she said, reaching out and plucking it from his hand, "are my special lady pills. Because while men can run around Vegas, slutting it up without a care in the world, women such as myself, cannot."

Alan blinked at her. "...What?"

She scoffed loudly with an impatient roll of her eyes. "It's the morning-after pill. So I don't wake up from this nightmare in nine months' time with a fuckin' souvenir in the form of _that," _she said, gesturing toward the baby cooing in the highchair beside him._ "_So, I'm taking fucking all of them."

"I'm not sure that'll actually help—" Phil began, but was silenced by a vicious glare from the irritated woman as she tore open the packet. "Okay," he muttered, leaning back in his chair with a small groan, looking about.

There was enough to look at. Apparently everyone who came to Vegas was absolutely gorgeous. Tanned skin, toned muscles, long, silky hair, and in outfits that left very little to the imagination... And that was just the men.

Will scowled at the ugly green umbrellas, the tall columns and the opulent fountains, and the women in their tiny bikinis and high heels who walked around as if they actually expected them to believe that they intended to go swimming.

Not with that hair, Will thought, staring from behind her square glasses, and especially not with that makeup. Will admired them from her dark bubble of hungover misery as she unscrewed her bottle, laid out seven different tablets in front of her, shoved the Alka-Seltzer in her water, shook it for a minute or so, and then slowly downed each pill, one after the other.

"So, Will, about last night—"

"Phil," she said, closing her eyes and running a hand through her hair, hoping the drugs would kick in soon. She wanted to get this conversation out of the way as soon as possible. "I cannot remember a thing from last night, so whatever you are about to say, forget it. I don't remember it, so it didn't happen, so no one will speak of it. Ever."

He stared at her, mouth agape, tilting his head from one side to the other incredulously.

"Seriously. Not a word."

He threw the aspirin packet onto the table, slapping his hands flat on the white surface as he leaned toward her. "Will—"

"Hey, guys, look at this," Alan laughed, interrupting him.

Both turned to see Alan holding the baby's arm and shaking its fisted hand near its lap, as it blinked around at them unconcernedly. Will blinked and realised what Alan was manipulating the baby to mimic.

"What the f—_Really_, Alan?" she cringed, turning away to see a waitress arrive with their food and drink.

"He's jacking his little weenis," the grown-man cackled. "Not at the table, Carlos!"

"Pull yourself together, man," Phil chuckled.

Alan stopped, still giggling to himself as the waitress unloaded a jug of orange juice, a pot of coffee and four plates of the greasiest bacon, eggs and toast Will had ever seen.

"Perfect," she said, as Phil thanked their server. The three of them dug in, very slowly.

Will sipped at her Alka-Seltzer and accepted the coffee Phil nudged her way with a nod. The baby giggled and Will watched Alan as he unpeeled a banana and mashed it up on a napkin before scooping a bit onto a spoon and carefully bringing it to the baby's mouth.

Content to see that the usually immature man was taking surprisingly good care of the kid, Will looked up to spot a stricken-looking Stu, his half-melted icepack still pressed to his face, marching toward them.

He threw himself into the seat beside her, knocking the table slightly as he threw up his hands. "I looked everywhere. Gym, casino, front desk," he listed on his fingers. "Nobody's seen Doug. He's not here."

Will stared at him, her fork slipping from her fingers and clattering to the floor as she stammered, "_What?_"

"He's fine," Phil hurriedly assured her, scowling at Stu as Will leant down to pick up her fork, wiping it distractedly on her shirt, her brows pinched with worry. "He's a grown man. Seriously, Stu, you gotta calm down. Here, have some juice."

Phil poured a cup for his anxious friend and set it in front of him. In the same moment, Stu made a horrible groan, pitched over and vomited under the table.

"Oh, shit," Will said, reaching over to rub Stu's back as he heaved. "You alright, bud?"

"I can't have juice right now," he groaned.

"Here," she said, sliding over the Alka-Seltzer, continuing to pat him as he coughed into his icepack. "Take these. Should make you feel better."

"Thank you, nurse," Stu grumbled.

"Okay," Phil said, pushing his plate aside, pulling out a pen and turning over a napkin. "Let's just track this thing." He cleared his throat as they shifted in their seats, paying attention as the red-eyed man glanced around the table. "Alright, what's the last thing we remember doing last night?"

"Well, the first thing was," Alan said, holding the arms of his sunglasses against his closed eyes as he thought hard, "we were on the roof and we were having those shots of Jager."

At the mention of alcohol, Stu gagged, and Will leaned forward to prepare the Alka-Seltzer herself, stirring it with a spoon before nudging it toward him. He cringed, but took a tiny sip. She nodded approvingly, rubbing his arm as she listened.

"And then we ate dinner at The Palm?" Phil said, and Will squinted at him beneath a furrowed brow.

"That's right," Alan nodded. "And then we played craps at the Hard Rock, and I _think _Doug was there." Will looked between them dubiously, her head throbbing.

"That sounds right," Phil said, writing it down, taking a sip of coffee from his mug. "No, no, no, he definitely was."

Will threw down her knife and fork with an irritated scoff. "Oh, _bullshit_," she cried, throwing up her hands. "Look, I don't remember _any_ of that."

Beside her, the annoyed Stu nodded in agreement, "I don't even remember going to dinner."

"I know," Phil snapped, dropping his mug loudly and flinging his pen, as he leant back in his chair. "What the _fuck. _I don't think I've ever been this hungover." He huffed, threading his hands over the back of his head.

"After the Hard Rock, I blacked out. It was like emptiness," Alan laughed obnoxiously, clearly nowhere near as freaked out as the rest of them.

Stu gave him a foul look as Phil took a breath. "Okay, we have up to 10pm, so that gives us a twelve-hour window where we could've lost him."

"Great," Will droned sarcastically. "That's very helpful."

Phil shrugged helplessly at her as Alan suddenly pulled something small and white from his pocket, holding it up curiously. "What is this?"

"Oh, my god!" Stu cried, reaching forward to snatch it from his fingers. "That is my _tooth_! Why do you have that?" he demanded. "What else is in your pockets?"

Phil's eyes lit up. "No, this is a good thing!" he said, diving his hands into his pockets. "Everyone, check your pockets. Check your pockets!" he ordered, and looked around as the two men obeyed. Will sat back, slowly sipping at her juice as she eyed the baby where it sat happily in its highchair, mashing banana between its pudgy hands, looking entertained. She had checked her dress pockets in the bathroom, and both had been empty. God only knew where her ID and pepper spray had gotten to. "Do you have anything?"

Alan dropped his findings onto the table, and they looked to see it consisted of nothing but a handful of coins, a washer for a screw, and a candy wrapper. He also pulled out his pager with a happy noise. Phil sniffed dismissively.

"I have an ATM receipt from the Bellaggio," Stu reported, unfolding a screwed up piece of paper he had dug out his pocket. "11:05," he read, and his eyes grew wild. "For _eight hundred dollars. _I am so _fucked." _He glared at Phil furiously.

"I have a valet ticket from Caesar's," Alan said, and for the first time, Will noticed that the hand he had sliced open last night on the rooftop had been bandaged. "It looks like we got in at 5:15am."

Phil covered his face, "Holy shit, we _drove _last night?" He glanced through his fingers to look at Will, whose own face had grown dark and pale as she sat back and drew in an uneven breath.

Beside her, Alan cackled, "Driving drunk. Classic!"

"_Ha ha ha ha," _Stu laughed sarcastically, scowling at the man.

"Alan," Will sighed, giving up on her meal as her stomach lurched. "Shut up."

Alan chuckled to himself, throwing a piece of bacon in his mouth before something on Phil's arm caught his eye and he asked through a mouthful of food, "What's on your arm?" He pointed to it.

Phil glanced down and saw the yellow band around his wrist, sitting back as he frowned in surprise. "What the fuck is that?" he mumbled, turning it to read the white tag.

"Jesus, Phil," Stu reached forward to double check that of which he was certain. "You were in the hospital last night," he cried, grabbing his friend's wrist to inspect the bracelet.

"I guess so, yeah," Phil said.

"You okay?" Alan asked, sounding concerned.

"Yeah, Alan," Phil said, narrowing his eyes and shaking his head at the man. "I'm fine."

"What the hell is going on?" Stu cried, dropping his head into his hands.

"Wait, Stu," Phil clapped his friend on the shoulder. "Stu, this is a good thing. We have a lead now," he said, gesturing to the tag on his wrist.

Will sat back, taking a deep breath and trying to quell the steadily growing panic. They had driven drunk last night. Phil had been in the hospital. Alan's hand was bandaged. The logical conclusion was that they had crashed the car, Doug had gotten hurt, and now he was in the hospital, possibly badly injured, possibly—

Will shot to her feet, quickly gathering up the packets of pills and shoving them back into the plastic bag, along with her half-empty bottle of Alka-Seltzer, trying to keep a facade of calm and composure and not a deep, dreadful panic. Phil watched her with wide eyes as Alan reached over to grab the baby's arm once more.

"Hey, Stu. Watch this," he laughed. "You ever seen a baby do that?"

Stu started chuckling, then stopped himself. "Dude—Alan," he shook his head and bit his lip. "Not cool."

"Will—?" Phil pushed back his chair and climbed to his feet as Will snatched the yellow valet ticket from the table.

"I'm gonna go get the car from the valet," she told them, trying to hide her trembling hands. "And then we're gonna go to the hospital, we're gonna find my brother, and then we're gonna get the hell out of this city." She fixed Phil with a steady stare, her nostrils flaring. _"Alright?"_

"But what about the tiger?" Alan asked.

Will looked at him for a long moment before turning on her heel and marching off toward the entrance without an answer.

/

"Ticket?" The lady at the Valet & Luggage counter asked.

Will slid it across the desk with a tight smile, glancing around as she chewed on the meat of her cheek, trying to calm her frantic heart.

"Hey."

Will started as Phil appeared at her side, leaning against the counter, a takeaway cup of coffee in his hand, staring intently her as she took a breath and refused to look at him.

"What?" she demanded, watching the lady tap on her keyboard.

"You doin' okay?"

She sent him a foul look from the corner of her eye. "Do I fucking _look_ like I'm doing okay?"

"Hey," he soothed, placing a warm hand on her lower back, "it's gonna be alright—"

She flinched away, her shoulders rising and her eyes glowing as she took a step back, turning to glower at him as she tried to ignore the sting of the tattoo where he had inadvertently pressed a hand against it. "_Don'_t tell me it's going to bealright," she spat, "'cause you don't know that."

He blinked helplessly at her, his blue eyes still red-rimmed, and filled with frustration as he eyed the space between them."I'm sorry," he said.

She huffed, turning her head to watch the Valet lady call for their vehicle. "I just want to find Doug and go home," she snapped. Shaking her head, Will suddenly wilted against the desk, placing a hand to her forehead, looking exhausted. "This is too much," she mumbled. "This is all too fucking much. I mean, what the fuck are we gonna do about that baby?" She demanded with a dry, humourless laugh. "And Stu's tooth? And the fucking _tiger_, Phil._ The tiger_." She let out a groan and felt Phil's hand on her arm.

"Alright," he said, tugging at her to make her turn to him. "Will, look at me," he ordered as she stumbled around, resisting slightly as he grasped her by the shoulders, his coffee on the Valet desk, and caught her eye with his eyes radiant blue. "Listen. We are going to do everything we can to find Doug. And whenwe find him, because we_ will_ find him, then we'll call the cops and give_ them_ the baby," he said, as if it were no big deal. "And then we'll call animal control or whatever, and get them to deal with the tiger. And as for Stu..." he shrugged carelessly. "He's a dentist, I'm sure he can fix his own tooth."

She stared at Phil, conscious of his hands on her shoulders, of his strong chest and scruffy jaw. And she thought that fate was a cruel bitch to have brought him back into her life, looking like this, and staring at her like he was, while keeping her fully aware that the moment this trip was over, and they went back to LA and their normal lives, nothing would have changed. Leaving her with nothing but the memory of his body above hers; big and solid and heavy and warm. She shook her head.

"You always have an answer for everything, don't you, Wenneck?"

"I told you, Chuckles." He shrugged with a playful grin and a comforting squeeze of her shoulders. "We'll figure it out," he told her. "Just trust me."

She faltered, her heart pounding at the old nickname, and they stared at each other for a long moment. How could he be like this? She wondered. She had been so sure that he was messing with her. That all he wanted was to try for a quickie with his ex to earn a high five from his bros back home, and a knick on his belt. But she knew him. Just as well as he knew her. And this was something else. Something scary. Something impossible.

The Valet lady cleared her throat and tore them from their moment.

"Here you are. Your car should arrive shortly. Have a pleasant stay."

Will lowered her eyes and slipped away, taking the receipt from the woman with a nod. Taking a deep breath, she turned to Phil, who stood and watched her quietly.

"Let's just find Doug, yeah?" she murmured.

He gave a breath, his brow creasing as his blue eyes deepened. They stared at each other with tired eyes.

A familiar face caught her attention and she looked past him to the stairs to see Stu and Alan approaching. Alan was holding his glasses over the baby's face where it was strapped again to his chest, and Stu was staring at him in astonishment.

"You _found _a baby before?" he asked the bearded man as they came to gather by the road. Will held out the receipt to Phil, who took it with a glance and then tucked it into his pocket.

"Yeah," Alan replied.

Will and Stu frowned at him. "Where?"

"Coffee Bean."

"Wait, what?" Stu blinked incredulously and opened his mouth to beg for clarification, but Alan turned to Phil, looking concerned.

"Hey, Phil? Look," he sighed. "I don't think Doug would want us to take the Mercedes."

"Relax," Phil shrugged, sipping at his coffee. "We'll be careful."

"It's just my dad is crazy about that car," Alan whined, "and he left Doug in charge—"

"Alan!" Phil cried, scowling at the man. "We got bigger problems here." Will laughed shortly in agreement, frowning at the bloodstain on Stu's polo shirt. "Doug could be in the hospital, he could be hurt. Okay?"

She groaned, glowering at him. "Could you not say that, please?" She was freaked out enough as it was. She didn't need him articulating her worries.

"Will—" he huffed, giving her an apologetic look before shaking his head at Alan. "Look, let's worry about the car later."

"Uh, guys?" Stu got their attention, and they looked to see him staring up at something over Phil's head. He pointed unhappily, "Check it out."

"_Alright, just grab it from the other side."_

Will squinted at the bright sky, grateful that the painkillers and nausea pills had well and truly kicked in as they looked up to see an orange crane stretched up to the roof of the hotel, where, impaled on a stone statue of Caesar himself, hung a king-sized mattress. Several men red and yellow vests stood on the roof and on the crane, struggling to remove it. Will gave a breath of amazement.

"Is that the mattress from Doug's room?" Alan asked.

"What the fuck?" Phil said in wonderment. He glanced about and caught sight of a man packing his bags into the trunk of his car nearby. Phil caught his attention, "Hey, man. Wha—What's goin' on up there?" he pointed as the man stared at them with narrowed eyes.

"Some asshole threw his bed out the window last night."

"No shit," Phil said.

"Yeah," the guy answered, looking at Stu. "Some guys just can't handle Vegas."

"Ha ha," Stu laughed sarcastically as the guy closed the trunk and made his way around the car, getting in and driving off without another word. "Oh, god," Stu groaned.

"It's gonna be okay, Stu," Phil said, patting his friend's arm before turning to gaze in awe at the mattress on the roof. "How the hell did we manage that?"

There was a squeal of tyres, and they turned as a young valet patted the roof of a car, smiling widely at them.

"Here's your car, officers."

"That's not—Oh, fuck no," Will groaned, turning away to run a hand over her face, wishing that she would wake up anytime now.

"Oh, god," Stu moaned, staring in horror.

"Alright," Phil spoke up, and she glanced painfully over to watch him square his shoulders and push his glasses up his nose. "Everybody act cool," he told them quietly, looking around. "Don't say a word." He gestured for Will to follow him as he turned to Stu with a look, "Come on, let's just get in and go."

He reached out and took hold of Will's arm as she reluctantly stepped forward, her face tight as he tugged her to his side and proceeded to walk her around the car, opening the back door for her. She gave him a long-suffering look and he widened his eyes at her and nodded for her to get in. She huffed, unable to believe that this was happening, and ducked into the police cruiser. Phil shut the door behind her and looked at the others.

"Come on," he called, and turned to smile at the valet, who waited patiently by the driver's door. "Stu, you got a five?"

"No," Stu snapped, opening the passenger door.

"I'll hit you on the way back," Phil told the valet as he slid into the driver's seat.

"Thank you, sir."

"This is so wrong," she said to the back of Phil's head as the door closed behind him. He glanced at her in the rear-view mirror, and opened his mouth to speak, but was cut off by a thump and the baby's wail.

"Oh my god!" She heard Stu cry, and turned to see him standing in front of Alan, looking over the baby. "Oh, my god. You just _nailed_ the baby."

"He _what_?" she demanded as Stu stepped back and opened the door for Alan, who frowned as he got in.

"Are my glasses okay?" he asked.

She heard Stu scoff in disgust as he threw himself into the passenger seat, slamming the door behind him. "Your glasses are fine, dick."

Alan sighed in relief as he clambered inside, and Will leaned over to help him remove the baby from his chest, grimacing as she held it for the first time while Alan put the carrier by his feet and strapped himself in. The small human made a distressed noise as she held it in the air for a moment too long, and Will huffed as Alan took too long to right himself.

She adjusted her hold on the thing, scooping it into a cradle in her arms and holding it against her chest, where it settled with loud, contented sigh. Will raised a brow at the little guy, amused at the thought that the baby believed itself terribly inconvenienced by the turn of events instead of horrifically terrified and missing its mum.

She wiped the tears from its chubby cheeks and adjusted the beanie over its soft, bald head. Then she looked up to find Phil watching her. Clearing her throat self-consciously, Will turned her head and stared out the window, hearing the man give a gentle laugh as he started the police car and pulled away from the casino. Stu grudgingly gave directions from his phone as they turned into the road and headed toward the hospital, where they hoped their groom-to-be would be found.


	7. Memories

"This is so illegal," Stu sighed.

They had gone only three streets before the traffic had backed up behind a construction site and now they sat, motionless in the car, with the windows down and the air-con pumping as the desert sun glared down from above.

Will sat in the backseat, with the baby Alan had dubbed Carlos on her lap, smacking her lips as she downed yet another painkiller. Phil sipped at his coffee, looking completely at ease, while Alan watched the people on the sidewalk as they passed by. Stu huffed, glowering and shaking his head.

"I can't believe we're doing this," he grumbled.

Phil sighed loudly and rolled his eyes, "Can't you see the fun part in anything?" he demanded.

Stu gave a dry laugh, "Yeah," he nodded. "We're stuck in traffic in a stolen police car with what is sure to be a missing child in the back seat. Which part of this is fun?" he asked.

Phil looked at his irritated friend, and Alan piped up from behind the grate which separated the front of the car and the back.

"I think the cop-car part's pretty cool," the bearded man chirped.

"Thank you, Alan!" Phil called, looking at him in the rear-view mirror. "It is cool. Doug would love it," he told Stu, who rolled his eyes.

Will sniffed, capping her empty water bottle and throwing it at her feet beside the plastic bag filled with pills. "We talkin' about the same Doug who won't go over eighty on the I-15?" she asked with raised brows, meeting Phil's eyes in the mirror.

He gave her a look through the brown filter of his aviators, and then turned back to the road. He slammed his palm against the flat of the wheel, blasting the horn. "Come on!" he yelled out the window, as a cacophony of horns joined him.

Stu winced at the sound, and Alan sighed. Then Phil's eyes lit up with what Will knew immediately would be a terrible idea.

"Check this out," he grinned, searching the dash for the right buttons. Red and blue lights reflected in the mirrors and Will's face fell as Phil tapped the siren, and then turned the wheel and began to mount the curb.

"Oh my god," she cried, one arm wrapping around the baby and the other clinging to the side of the door as the car rocked unsteadily as Phil pushed foward. "Oh my god, Phil, what are you doing?"

"Oh, no," Stu joined in, grabbing the car around him to steady himself. "No, Phil," Stu plead. "No, Phil. Don't do this."

"Take it easy," Phil laughed, his blue eyes alight as the car drove freely along the pavement. Will sank down in her seat, mortified as she heard surprised shouts and shrieks from pedestrians as they leapt out of the way.

"Just try to call more attention to us," Stu snapped sarcastically, his eyes wide.

Phil grinned and grabbed the radio, flicking on the PA. "Attention!" he called, his voice deadpan. "Attention, please. Move out of the way. I repeat, please disperse."

"Phil," Stu said, looking close to hyperventilating. "Stop the car, I wanna get out. Stop the car, I wanna get out. Pull over."

"Okay, Phil, for real," Will said, adjusting her grip on Carlos in order to lean forward and lace her fingers through the grating. "You seriously need to get the fuck off the footpath. You're gonna hit someon—"

"_Get off the sidewalk!" _Stu shouted suddenly, apparently hitting his limit. Will sat back and gently bounced the baby on her knee as he jolted and began to cry. "Get off the sidewalk!"

"Stu. Take a fucking breath!" she said, scowling at her panicking friend.

Alan cackled as they reached the end of the construction zone. Stu let out a high scream as Phil yanked the wheel and demounted the curb.

"I should have been a fucking cop," Phil laughed, as they pulled out onto the clear road and continued on their way.

/

They had apparently made quite an impression on the workers at the hospital last night, so it wasn't difficult to be pointed in the right direction. The man who treated Phil was a Dr. Valsh, and he was currently with a male patient, giving a prostate exam. So, while the men were permitted access to talk to the good doctor, Will was not, and so she waited in the hall, shuffling awkwardly and avoiding eye-contact with anyone who may have seen her last night.

The white lights and the smell of disinfectant with the occasional tang of sick actually did much to relax her, the familiarity of it all clearing her mind and soothing her tense muscles. They had asked at the front desk if anyone by the name of Doug Billings had been admitted, and Will had been beyond relieved to hear that the answer was no. However, that also meant that they now had _absolutely _no idea where her brother might be.

The men emerged about ten minutes later from further down the corridor, lead by a balding man with a moustache in a doctor's coat and scrubs, a file in his hand. She assumed this was Valsh. She stood from her chair as they approached. Stu and Phil glancing at her as she raised an inquisitive brow.

"And there _you _are, nurse," the doctor said, looking straight at her. Will stared warily as the man chuckled. "Thought it was a bit weird to see him," he nodded his head toward Phil, "without you attached to his hip. But, of course, you're not too far away."

Her eyes grew wide, an angry, embarrassed blush rising to her cheeks as she heard Phil cough into his fist. She drew in a deep breath and refused to look at him as they gathered at the reception desk, Doctor Valsh flicking open the file and taking a look.

"Okay, here we go. Patient name, Phil Wenneck," he read. "2:45am arrival. Minor concussion, like I said. Some bruising." Pretty standard." Will frowned and subtly looked Phil over where he stood leaning on the desk in front of her, trying to remember if she had seen any such bruises when she had awoken and he was shirtless beside her. "Severe irritation of the eyes and nose," Valsh finished with a raise of his brow. "Result of Oleoresin Capsicum."

Will stiffened.

"What?" Phil asked, glancing back at Stu, who shrugged cluelessly. "What is that?"

"Pepper spray," the doctor told him. "It had mostly worn off by the time you got here. But someone got you good last night."

"You got pepper sprayed?" Stu tried not to laugh and failed. Will stayed very quiet. At Phil's unimpressed look, he got a hold of himself, clearing his throat and looking to Valsh. "Hey, do you mind if I take a look?" he asked, gesturing to the file. "I'm actually a doctor."

"Yeah," the doctor snorted. "You said that several times last night. But really, you're just a _dentist_."

Stu huffed, offended.

"Okay, this is interesting. Your blood-work came in this morning." Valsh hummed, looking over the chart. His eyebrows rose. "Wow. They found a large amount of Ruphylin in your system."

Phil blinked at the doctor, his face blank. "Ru—?" he tried to repeat the word.

Meanwhile, Will was having a minor meltdown. "Are you serious?" she demanded of the red-moustached man. The doctor nodded confidently. "Holy shit," she gasped, letting her head fall between her shoulders, her hands flat on the desk before her, as she tried not to panic.

"What—?" Phil put a hand on her back, frowning in confusion. She was too distracted by the knowledge that someone had spiked her drink, and that she allowed herself to become too drunk or too stupid to _notice, _to remember to shrug him off. So fucking _stupid._

"Ruphylin," the doctor clarified to the others. "Roofies. Commonly known as the date-rape drug."

"What, so," Phil laughed uncertainly, "what are you saying? I was _raped_ last night?"

"Actually..." the doctor trailed off thoughtfully, and Will's head shot up to watch him flick through the chart.

Phil stiffened beside her, his hand sliding to rest near her waist, holding tight as he glanced worriedly to the now frowning Stu. It was unlikely, she thought. But not impossible. They didn't remember anything of last night, and beyond the certainty of her having had sex with Phil, they had no idea who else any of them might have rubbed genitals with, consensually or otherwise. When all of this is over, the first thing she was gonna do was go and get tested, and then get a full check-up, pregnancy test, the works. Because if she was fucked up enough last night to let Phil the asshole, the player, the prick, fuck her, god-only-knows what other reckless things she had let happen.

They held their breath as the doctor searched the file, and released it at once as he shook his head at last. "I don't think so. But someone did slip you the drug. I'm not surprised you don't remember anything."

Phil leant toward her, his fingers tickling her side as he rubbed a hand over his face in relief. Will pressed against his side, winding an arm around his waist to rub his back soothingly, glad that he had not been sexually assaulted, and also that they had one less thing to worry about. He sighed against her, pulling her close and pressing his lips to her hair, his hand resting warmly on her hip, and she let him, for a moment, before she stepped out of his side-ways hug. He let her go, but didn't step away, turning back to the doctor, his shoulder and leg against hers.

Alan cackled from the end of the desk, Carlos strapped to his chest, chewing on a pen Alan had pilfered from the desk. "Doc, none of us can remember anything from last night," he told Valsh, grinning like it was the funniest thing in the world. Alan looked to Stu and Will, who both stared dryly back at him. "Remember?"

"Yeah," Phil shook his head, "How could someone have drugged all of us?"

"Look, I wouldn't worry about it, guys," Valsh shrugged, closing Phil's file and stepping back from the desk. "By now, the stuff's out of your system. You're gonna be fine," he told them with a nod, turning to leave. "I have to go."

"Wait, wait, wait," Stu called, raising a hand to stop him. "Please, doctor. Is there anything else? Like, something we may have been talking about, or some place we were going?"

Valsh shook his head, and then stopped with a thoughtful look. "Actually, there was something." They all glanced to each other, shifting excitedly. "You guys kept talking about some wedding last night."

"Yeah. No shit," Stu said, his face falling. "Our buddy Doug's getting married tomorrow."

Phil scowled at the doctor, and then leaned forward, reaching toward the doctor's coat pocket. "Y'know what?" Phil snapped. "I want that hundred back."

"No, no," Valsh brushed his hand away. "Easy. You kept talking about some wedding that you_ just_ came from. At the, uh, Best Little Chapel." Phil and Stu frowned at each other over her head, as Phil dug into his pants pocket and pulled out the napkin and pen he had used to scribbled down their general timeline back at Caesar's. "You guys kept saying how sick the wedding was and getting all crazy about it." Valsh gave a breath, patting the desk dismissively. "Okay, I hope this helps. I really have to leave."

"Best Little Chapel," Phil repeated, writing it down, frowning thoughtfully. "Do you know where that is?"

"I do," the doctor nodded. "It's at the corner of Get a Map, and Fuck Off." Phil's head rose to stare blandly at the doctor, while Stu huffed again, doubly offended. Valsh fixed them with a dry look. "I'm a doctor, not a tour guide. Figure it out yourself, okay?" He stared at their group with raised brows. "You're grownups." He gave a final nod, and then was gone.

Will gave a sigh. "Okay," she said, pulling out her phone, opening the maps app. "This is good. This is good. We'll go to the chapel and ask if they've seen Doug. Someone's gotta know where my brother is."

/

"Keep going along and it should be on the right," Will directed from the backseat, sliding her phone back into her pocket as Phil pulled the cop-car into the chapel's car-park. "Yeah, right there. Fuck, would you look at that?"

The Best Little Chapel was a simple, traditional looking church, but for the fact that it was painted white and pink, with a glittering star on the spire in the place of a cross, a white picket fence, an archway over the door with fake roses wound through the gaps in each slat, and a sign out the front which read 'Our Weddings Last. Military Discounts' beneath the establishment's logo of a large pink heart with cupids on it.

"Right next to the strip club," she noticed, eyeing the sign beyond which read 'STRIPPERS. Nude Daily.' She chuckled as Phil stopped the car. "Nice."

"Very classy," Stu sighed, as they unbuckled and started to get out. Will, with Carlos sitting on her lap, didn't move.

"What about the baby?" she asked, as Phil opened the door for her. He poked his head in and squinted at the kid through his glasses.

"Just leave him in the car," he shrugged. "We're only gonna be five minutes."

"Whoa," Stu said, glaring at Phil over the roof of the car, slamming his own door shut. "We're not leaving a baby in the car."

"He'll be fine," Phil argued. "I'll crack the window."

"No, I'll stay out here and watch him," Will told him, unbuckling her belt and adjusting Carlos to sit on her knee. She nodded toward the chapel. "You guys go in there and just ask 'em if they've seen Doug."

"You sure?" Phil frowned, looking at the kid.

"Yeah," she nodded dismissively. "Go on."

"Okay," he said, "We'll be five minutes."

"Fine."

He pulled the door part-way closed, and then she watched through the window as the three men, tired and ragged and still in varying degrees of pain, made their way beneath the pink and white archway and slipped into the chapel.

Will let out an enormous sigh, and rested her head on the back of the seat as she stared at the roof of the police car. She wished she could just call her brother so that he could tell her that he was alright, so that he could tell them where he was, they could pick him up, and then they could get the hell out of Vegas and never look back. But, of course, of all things for him to forget or to lose, he lost his goddamn phone.

She glanced at the Best Little Chapel and wondered what Tracy and her bridesmaids were doing right now. Probably getting the spa treatment of their lives.

Tracy was very similar to Doug in that aspect; they were both quiet, grounded, down to earth people, who were more likely to spend the night in watching a movie and baking brownies than there were to party hard, staggering from one nightclub to the next, drunk out of their minds. They enjoyed a good party while they were there, for sure, but were never centre of attention, never the one on the kegstand, but they were also one of the last to go home. Her brother's penchant for small, intimate events was why a bachelor party in Vegas had been such a surprise, but not entirely unexpected, once she heard he was going with Stu and Phil.

Stu had always been the serious one, not too geeky, not too outspoken, but sarcastic, intelligent and generous enough to be likeable. Will had known him for just about as long as she had known Doug. Their mothers had been friends, first at work, and then once they found out they were pregnant at the same time, outside of it as well. They grew ever closer over the nine months, and visited each other frequently after they gave birth. And Will, the oldest child between them, though only two and a half at the time, was given the responsibility of playing with, and looking after the babies while their mothers sat at the dining table and chatted away.

Once grown to school age, Stu and Doug hadn't been in the same class, and so hadn't immediately become the best of friends. And Stu was small for his age, and had been prescribed with glasses from pretty much the moment he opened his eyes, so it was hard for him for a while, since kids could be cruel, and he was what they considered 'different'.

But once Will heard about the troubles the boy she considered her second brother was going through, she sorted the bullies out right quick. The year after that, the boys were put into the same class, and they fell together just as their mothers always hoped that they would. And Will was always made sure to keep an eye out for her little brother and their runt of a friend. But they didn't cop too much crap from the other kids, at least, not after the stories they heard from those who had been around long enough to hear what Doug's big sister did to the first guys who tried.

Of course, Stu didn't stay the runt for long. When he hit puberty, he really hit. One day he barely reached her waist, and the next he had shot up past her head, standing tall and thin as a pole. And no one picked on the tall guy. He was quiet and reserved, but loosened up as he got older. Much of that confidence no doubt came from Phil, who had confidence to spare. It didn't take long to discover that once you got Stu in a party-mood, he could really let himself go and have a good time. But he was always the most sober at the end of the night, making sure that no one had drowned in their vomit and that everybody got home safe. The thing that most people liked about him though, admired even, was his drive and his ambition to do what he had always dreamed. Which was, of course, to become a dentist. He was one of the very few who were sure of what they wanted to be when they grew up; knew what he had to do to get there, and was smart enough to pull it off.

And Phil? Phil was the complete opposite of them both. Loud and unapologetic, he had been the big-talking troublemaker who always seemed to smooth over any troubles he had with anyone, unless that anyone was someone who simply decided he didn't like the kid and punched him in his big nose for the trouble. It wasn't until high school, after he grew into that big nose and grew out his hair that he really came into himself. He was the party-man, the prom-king, the coolest guy around. But he never got big-headed, never malicious, never unwilling to give a little guy the time of day. And he never turned his back on his old buddies, no matter how popular he got with the cool kids, not even after hebecame a cool kid himself.

She remembered the first time she saw him – well, no, not saw him, because he had been around long before she cared to remember him – or even acknowledge him, he being her little brother's friend and all – but she remembered the first time that she _noticed _Phil Wenneck.

_Wilma Billings, an angry seventeen-year-old, slammed the front door to her middle-class suburban home._

_Carelessly throwing her dripping wet umbrella to the side, she tugged off the hood of her black coat and shook out her flat-ironed, choppily layered, heavily side-banged hair, which had been dyed several hues of blue and green with a streak or two of purple as an extra Fuck You to her parents. Mr and Mrs Billings, however, had merely rolled their eyes and looked forward to the inevitable end of this phase of loud music, dramatic declarations and argument for the sake of argument. Balancing the warm pizza boxes, four stacked on top of the other, she marched through the house, dripping rainwater on every surface, her big, black, shiny boots tracking mud across the floorboards. _

"_I got the fuckin' pizza, if anyone cares," she called as she stepped into the living room, shrugging off her thick, wet tartan coat and throwing it over an armchair._

"_Language, Wilma," she heard her father warn from the kitchen. _

_She rolled her eyes and sighed dramatically, looking to the couches, where her little brother Doug sat in the couch across from a strange boy, controllers in their hands, eyes fixed on the television. Wilma dropped the pizza boxes onto the coffee table with a huff, collapsing upon the couch next to the unknown kid, stretching out and kicking up her muddy boots. She sat and watched the boys shoot each other in the game for a while, and then rolled back her head, flicking her green fringe out of her eyes and scowled at the stranger beside her. _

"_Who the fuck is this?" she asked the fifteen-year-old Doug, whose hair was in desperate need of a style of any kind. _

_He glanced briefly over and frowned, his eyes sliding back to the game as he answered, "That's Phil."_

_Her scowl deepened as she turned, squinting at the boy beside her, "Phil who?"_

"_Phil Wenneck. He's over here like all the time."_

"_Huh," she said. _

_Phil glanced back at her, and she was struck by the line of his jaw; the flow of his long, surfer-hair, and the vibrant, spectacular, stunning blue of his eyes beneath his low brow. "Hey," he greeted, those blue eyes of his rising to stare openly at her colourful hair, and then dropping to her ragged, oversized jumper, torn skinny-jeans and black Doc Martins, where they rested still on the coffee table. _

"_I thought you were smaller," she grunted, remembering a rat-faced, long-haired slip of a boy, not the broad-shouldered, long-legged young man who sat before her._

_His eyes returned to hers, blue on green, and she was legitimately surprised to see them alight with genuine amusement, his thin lips stretching into a smile as he turned, eyes back on the game. _

"_I was," he shrugged. "Guess I just got older. You've grown up a fair bit yourself, Chuckles."_

"_Huh," was her brilliant reply. _Chuckles?

_They didn't talk for the rest of the night, but she didn't forget about Phil Wenneck, or those absurdly blue eyes of his. _

_In the weeks that followed, Phil would visit more and more frequently. And as he grew older and taller and ever more impossible to ignore, Wilma would sit with her brother and his friend, and join in their chats and their laughter, and little by little, Phil Wenneck would become her friend as well._

It was something which often slipped her mind, she thought as she poked Carlos and listened to him giggle. That she and Phil had been good friends long before they were together. He was Doug's school friend after all, born in the same year as he, and indeed as Stu. A two years age difference between she and Phil had once seemed like ten, but now it was hardly something to blanch at. She had a friend back in LA whose husband had been seventeen in the year she was born. In comparison, two years was nothing.

Will tried to remember how it felt back then; how it must have felt not be so emotionally attached to Phil, beyond friendship. Back when she would sit and laugh as he regaled them with his romantic soirees which ended in disaster, and when she would play wingman in the clubs, talking him up to girls before he would saunter over and sweep them off their feet, winking at her over their shoulder as she raised a drink his way, grinning at his victory.

Carlos suddenly lurched backward, and she caught the baby before he could somersault headfirst onto the floor of the police car. She scooped his small body into her arms and waited for him to settle, kicking up her feet on the headrest of the passenger seat and sitting back with a sigh.

Glancing up at the church, she could help but remember how she used to lie curled up against Phil, watching his sleeping silhouette in the darkness, seeking out his features by the dim light of the moon peeping in through the curtains. She remembered how she would just lie and stare for hours, plagued by her insomnia, but in those moments, she could hardly care.

Not when he was so big and warm beneath her hands, and not when his arm was curled around her, holding her close even in sleep. Not when jaw was covered in a dark scruff, and his nose was so straight and his lips were so soft and his throat was so delicate and his lashes were so dark and beautiful fanned across his cheek. Not when she loved him with all of her heart, and her soul and everything she had. Will remembered those secret moments, and she remembered how certain she had been that there was nothing else in this world that she wanted more than to belong to this man and for this man to belong to her.

He had never really known what he wanted, she knew. And neither did she. Stu was good to them in that aspect. He sent them books, had them do quizzes, provided pamphlets, posters, and laid out for them a thousand different pathways, a thousand opportunities, and he had them, by process of elimination, pick out a path which they thought they wouldn't entirely _hate, _and might, possibly in the future, find they actually _liked _or at least were interested enough in, and then he sent them on their way, exasperated at their uselessness but happy to help. Thus, Phil had ended a history teacher, and she, eventually, a nurse. But though it had taken her quite a few years before she had finally gotten around to figuring out what she wanted to do with her career, of one thing she had long been certain: she wanted to marry Phil Wenneck. She wanted him to be her husband, and she wanted to be his wife. Everything else was superfluous.

But then, of course, he broke up with her, and that dream sort of went out the window. She found it was rather difficult to marry a man who wanted nothing to do with you.

Will shifted uncomfortably at the hot desert air which blew through the open door, resenting her baggy jumper, and looked to the white doors of the chapel, her lips pursing impatiently. Carlos grew quiet in her arms, his tiny breaths through his small, pink lips enchanting her, and she tried not to think anymore of the future she had once wished for and long since lost. All that mattered now was to get this little guy home, and to find Doug.

It could not have been more than a few minutes following this thought that Will was shocked awake by raised voices.

Blinking blearily, with no memory of having shut her eyes, she jerked forward, trying not to jostle the complaining Carlos too much as she kicked wide the door and clambered out of the car. She turned to see Alan, Stu and Phil packing white boxes into the trunk, filled with what looked like an assortment of mugs and hats. Alan wore one such hat, but she hadn't time to inspect the picture upon it as Phil stood across from Stu, hands on his hips and scowling at the dentist, who appeared to be having a meltdown.

"...I vote we torch the cop car and all this shit with it," Stu declared.

"Torch it?" Phil cried in disbelief. "Who _are_ you?"

"I don't know, Phil," Stu said, pacing with his hands laced behind his head, sweating through his polo shirt. "Apparently I'm a guy who marries complete strangers."

Will adjusted her sunglasses as she squinted in the hot sun, resting Carlos on her hip. "Wait," she laughed, "_What?"_

Stu looked to her, the whites of his eyes showing behind his glasses. "It's alright for you," he cried to Phil, gesturing wildly toward Will. Phil stiffened, and opened his mouth to speak, but Stu didn't stop. "But for me? No. No! This whole situation is completely _fucked_." He strode toward Alan, who was holding an open box, reached inside and picked up a mug, sneering at it a moment, before turning and smashing it upon the ground. "These _mugs_," he spat as their eyebrows shot up in shock. Stu turned back to Alan, ripping the pink and white baseball cap from atop his head. "This _hat_." The hat was flung to the ground beside the shards of broken china.

"Hey!" Alan cried.

"This car," Stu pointed fiercely at the police cruiser. "It's all evidence of a night that never happened. That is why we are torching _all of it_."

"Hey," Will said, bouncing Carlos slightly as he woke fully and began to complain in earnest, no doubt frightened by the loud noises. "What the fuck, Stu?"

"He's having a mental breakdown," Phil told her, hands raised in an attempt to cool the situation. "Don't worry." He turned back to his friend, who was near ripping his hair out in fistfuls. "Okay, Stu, I'm a schoolteacher. I'm all for secrecy, but I'm not gonna torch a fucking cop car."

"Fine," Stu replied, without hesitation. "I'll do it." He looked to Will with a steady stare. "Will?"

"The fuck, man?" she gaped at him, shaking her head firmly. "_No!_"

"Can I help?" Alan chirped.

"Yeah, thanks."

"And how exactly are you guys gonna do that?" Phil demanded.

"Well, it's easy," Alan shrugged. "You just pour kerosene over a ferret, light it on both ends, put it in. They're attracted to the gas lines."

Their tense faces slackened as they stared at the bearded man, completely taken aback and incapable of knowing whether or not he was actually being serious.

"_What?" _Stu gaped. "A ferret?"

"Yeah," Alan nodded, as if what he was saying wasn't completely insane. "Yeah, or a tamed raccoon, but it's a lot of trouble."

Stu blinked at him, glancing around to observe the likewise slack-jawed faces of Phil and Will as they squinted at Alan. "Does it matter if it's tamed or not?"

"Yeah, because if it's untamed," Alan explained. "It won't take the kerosene as well."

"What the fuck are you even..." Will trailed off, scowling at Alan in exasperated disgust. Deciding to just ignore the clearly mental man, she turned on her friend with a face vicious and firm. "Stu! You're not _torching a police car!_"

Further discussion was ended as a phone suddenly started ringing. Immediately, Stu and Phil started slapping at their pockets. Wide eyed and urgent, Phil looked to Alan.

"Shit, is it Doug?"

"I don't have a..." Alan shrugged.

"It's Doug," Phil cried, looking to Stu, who dug his mobile from his pants. "It's Doug!"

Will's heart stumbled in her chest, and she heard Phil catch his breath as they waited, watching Stu pull out the phone, turning it in his hand to check the ID. His face fell. "Argh. It's _Melissa_."

Phil huffed, meeting Will's disappointed face as he turned and closed the trunk. "Don't answer it."

"I have to," Stu snapped. "She's called _twice already!_"

Will rolled her eyes, and shuffled back toward the car, standing by the open door and checking on Carlos, who seemed to have calmed now that tensions had died down.

"Can I ride shotgun?" She heard Alan ask, and glanced over to see the short, hairy man who had wanted to set drench a ferret in petrol and set it on fire, holding Phil's hand.

To his credit, the setting-a-small-mammal-on-fire thing had been clearly too much for Phil's considerably reckless and daredevil-esque behaviour, and the man threw him off, "Don't touch me."

Will chuckled shortly, but quickly averted her eyes as Phil approached, opening the driver seat door with a huff and then leaning against it, looking past her to where Stu paced slowly, pitching his voice higher and trying to sound as normal as possible. She could almost believe it, too. If it weren't for the blood on his shirt, the missing tooth and the way his hand was tightly fisted in his hair.

"The reception up here's crazy. I think it's all the sequoia trees. Block the signal."

Will scrunched up her nose as Phil made a disgusted sound. Stu glared at them as he moved around the car, opening the backdoor as Alan had evidently taken Phil's non-answer as a 'yes' and gotten in the passenger side.

"He's so fucking embarrassing," Will grumbled as the dentist got into the car. She turned to find Phil quietly staring at her. "What?"

He opened his mouth to speak, but suddenly stopped. Closing it, he glanced at the Best Little Chapel, and then at Carlos, and then back to her. Then Phil shook his head. "Nothing."

She narrowed her eyes at him, but he gave a quick grin and slid into the driver's seat. Shaking her head, she climbed into the backseat beside Stu, who was busy telling Melissa about all the 'vino factoids' he was learning. Resisting the urge to gag, she pulled on her belt and glanced at Alan, who turned in the passenger seat to smile at the baby on her lap, poking his fingers through the grate to wave. Carlos stared at him with wide eyes, making a happy but confused noise.

Alan sat back with a content sigh, turning to smile at Phil. "It'd be so cool if I could breast-feed, y'know?"

Phil just stared at him. But before he could demand what the ever-loving fuck he was _on, _there was a screech of tyres, and the police car gave a jerk as something hit it from behind. Will quickly turned her head to see an orange car had parked itself behind them, its windows darkly tinted, and its presence strangely ominous.

"Uh..." she began, but fell silent as the door of the orange vehicle opened, and a man in a black shirt and high-waisted jeans strode out. Baseball bat in hand.

"Well, listen. We're about to go for a tractor ride, so I should probably get going," Stu was saying into the phone. "So pretty."

Will clutched Carlos to her chest as another man got out the driver's side door, similarly armed, and the two made their way to the front of the police car.

"What the fuck?" Phil gaped, quickly engaging the central locking system.

"Uh, Phil...?" she squeaked, her mouth dry.

"Let's go! Out of the car!" the men yelled, hitting the windows with a fist. Will's stomach lurched and her heart was in her throat as she sank down into the seat, her arms wrapped firmly around the baby.

"They just started up the tractor. I think it backfired," Stu said, distractedly, staring at the two men. Both were in dark clothes and appeared to be of Asian descent. They glared at them through the windscreen.

"Where the hell is he?" the one on the left screamed, staring at a wide-eyed Phil, who raised his hands innocently.

"Hey, easy. Easy!" he yelled back. "I think we're looking for the same guy, okay?" There was a beat. Then the guy on the right adjusted his grip on the metal pole in his hands, swung it back and sent it flying. It hit the windscreen, hard, the reinforced glass cracking on impact, but holding firm. Alan screamed, terrified. Phil shielded his face with his hands, shouting furiously in his fright, "_Hey!_ What the hell, man?!"

In her arms, Carlos burst into tears. She clung to his tiny, soft body as he wailed, remembering not to hold too tightly and trying not to completely lose it at Stu, who laughed tightly into the phone, "Why would there be a baby? We're at a winery. That's a... a _goat_."

"Where is he?!" the man who smashed the windscreen demanded.

"I don't know!" Phil screamed. "What are you talking about?"

"Sir," Stu forcefully hit the grating, glaring wide eyed at Phil, for some godforsaken reason _still _on the phone to his girlfriend. "Can you please start the tractor so we can get out of here?!"

Phil glanced back at him, his face red and his blue eyes filled with equal amounts of fear and rage as he shouted at Stu, "I'm trying to but we're fucking _blocked_!"

"Get out!" the man on the left shouted. Will screamed as the baseball bat struck the glass, but could barely hear herself over Phil's shout, Alan's shriek and Carlos' wailing.

"Hey!" Alan shouted, lowering his hands from his face. "There's a baby on board!"

"Get out of the car!" the man screamed, pointing the bat at Phil.

"It's a baby goat!" Stu shouted into the phone.

"Just calm down!" Phil cried, forcing the keys into the ignition. It was all Will could do to keep a grip on the shrieking baby, and keep the oxygen moving in and out of her lungs. Her vision swam, and she wondered if she was going to faint. Nothing at the hospital could ever have prepared her for this. She had never been so terrified.

"Why you making trouble for my business, man? Go away from here, now!" an accented voice called from the chapel, and Will glanced out the window to see a man in a striped shirt pulling up his zip and brandishing what looked like a golf club.

With the additional party, the Asian men clearly decided that the situation had escalated beyond their tolerance, and so the metal pole was tossed aside, and from his jeans, the man on the right pulled out what was very clearly a gun.

"Get out of the fucking car!" the man armed with the handgun demanded, pointing the barrel at Alan through the damaged windscreen.

"_Phil, he's got a gun_!" Alan shrieked.

"_No shit he's got a gun!"_

"I gotta call you back," Stu yelled into the phone. "Bye!"

"_Phil!" _Will shrieked.

"Come on!" Phil grunted, and in one smooth movement, he turned the key in the ignition, put the car into drive and slammed his foot onto the accelerator. There was a cry of pain from the right of the vehicle, a loud pop, and then the man in the striped shirt collapsed with a shout, clutching his shoulder. The police car jumped forward, crashing into the cheap-looking white limo parked ahead. Will gave a cry, clutching the sobbing Carlos, her eyes wide and her heart pumping in her ears as she did all she could to keep her and the baby upright and safe.

"Fuck!" Phil shouted, righting himself, dazed from the impact. "_Shit_."

"He shot me!" The man by the chapel cried, rolling on the floor. She could see the man with the baseball bat, picking himself up from the ground where he had stumbled back, but couldn't see the other guy, who had the gun.

"He shot Eddie!" Stu screamed, his face red.

"Fuck this shit!" Phil declared, throwing the car into reverse and looking over his shoulder, his entire face tense but determined as he pressed down on the accelerator. The car skidded as it flew backwards, and there was a chorus of screams as he ploughed through the orange car, knocking it aside. Stu's yells of '_Go! Go, go, go!_' were loud in Will's ear as Phil kept going, tearing out of the carpark, over the curb, and then smashing straight through a bus stop. Glass exploded on impact, showering over the car, and within, they were thrown around violently, but still Phil kept on, pressing the brakes as they reached the road, changing to drive and then speeding off in a cloud of glass, dust and burnt rubber.

"Fuck! _Fuck!" _she cried, manually loosening her every muscle as she uncurled from her protective position around the sobbing and wailing Carlos. She immediately checked him over, looking for bumps or bruises, but other than being scared out of his mind, the kid was fine.

"Okay!" Phil laughed from the front seat, clearly shaken. "Oh, that was some sick shit!"

"_Who were those guys?"_ Alan shrieked. Carlos screamed even louder, completely hysterical. Will was trying not to hyperventilate, and to soothe him at once.

Stu sat at her side, clutching a bruised shoulder, and looked at the distressed child, and at the barely-coping woman who held him. Reaching out, he gingerly rubbed the baby's chest. "We're gonna be okay," he told Carlos, who, surprisingly enough, didn't listen. "Everything's gonna be okay, alright?" Then he turned away, took a breath and bellowed, "_What the fuck is going on?!"_

"I have no idea," Phil replied. Will scrunched her eyes shut, panting heavily as she leaned her head against the slightly cooler glass of the window beside her, trying to quell the urge to vomit, to faint, and to remember. "Will? Will, you alright back there?" Phil called, his voice strained with worry. She couldn't answer him. It was too much of a question.

"Is Carlos okay?" Alan called. That she could answer.

"Yeah. Yeah, the baby's fine."

"Will—"

Whatever Phil was going to ask was interrupted by Stu's phone ringing, shrill and urgent. Stu, whimpering and panting almost as harshly as the traumatised Will, pulled it from his pocket and stared at the caller ID, which she had no doubt read 'MELISSA'.

"Why don't you let that one go to voice-mail?" Phil suggested, glancing at the pale and now trembling Will in the rear-view mirror.

"_Ha ha ha_," Stu said dryly, falling back into his seat. "That's a fake laugh, by the way."

Will managed to get a hold of herself long enough to shush and soothe Carlos to sleep, and after some resistance, he fell into unconsciousness eagerly, apparently exhausted from all the excitement. Will felt very much the same. She held the baby in her arms and let his gentle breathing calm her pounding heart and frantic mind. She didn't want to think about what had just happened. She didn't want to look at the smashed windshield or think about the fact that they had just been shot at, and in fact, seen someone get shot.

She glanced around the quiet car, seeing Alan inspect the cracks in the glass, Stu glare heatedly out his side window, and Phil watching her carefully as he drove. Drawing in a breath, she deemed herself calm enough to speak.

"So, where the hell are we going?" she asked, her voice even and quiet, and too loud in the tense silence.

Phil cleared his throat and glanced back at the brooding Stu, "You got Jade's address?"

"Yeah," Stu snorted, not turning to look at him. "Yeah, I got her address."

Will looked between them, her brow pinched in confusion. "Who's Jade?"

"His wife," Phil answered. She took a moment to check that he wasn't messing with her. Then she turned her wide eyes on the glowering Stu.

"Seriously?"

Her friend, red faced in his fury and mortification, pulled out a scrunched piece of paper from his pocket and held it out to her. Taking it tentatively, she looked to find an address scribbled in messy, doctor hand. Stu curled up against the car door, arms crossed and eyes dark, and there he settled down and sulked.

"_Don't even start_."


	8. Games

The address led them to an apartment complex, double-storied and established in a u-shape. With a large pool area in the centre, the area was scattered with umbrellas, lounge chairs and palm trees around an irregular shaped pool, the waters blue and clear and incredibly inviting on this hot summer day.

Clambering out of the car, Will handed Carlos off to Phil, who reluctantly helped Alan strap him to his chest. Will reached into the car and pulled out the plastic bag filled with pills before she moved to stand by Stu at the front of the police cruiser. His arms were tightly crossed as he observed the damage done to the windscreen. Using the lightly battered bonnet as a sort of table, Will sorted through the pills. Popping a few onto her palm, and another few into Stu's silently outstretched hand, she downed them dry.

Stu did the same, hardly reacting to the uncomfortable sensation. Will gestured questioningly toward his shoulder, silently asking if he wanted her to take a look at it. Stu shook his head as she packed the pill boxes away. "This is bad."

"Yeah," she nodded, walking around the car to throw the bag onto the front seat, slamming the door after it.

"No," Stu snapped. "This is _really _bad."

"It could be worse," was all she could offer.

"How?" he demanded. "How could this," he gestured vaguely, "possibly be any worse?"

Crossing her arms and leaning against the bonnet, Will scowled at Phil as he swore at Alan, clumsily clicking the baby into the harness. "We could have died horribly in a terrible car crash," she shrugged. "Or been shot and killed by Asian mobsters."

Stu snorted, "Right. Thanks for the pep talk."

"Always good to keep things in perspective," she drawled sarcastically.

When Alan and Carlos were sorted, they made their way into the complex, Stu leading with the address slip in hand, while Will brought up the rear, rubbing her sore neck and wincing as she followed the guys up the stairs, the pain of her bruised muscles flaring, and the dull throb of the tattoo on her lower back making itself known.

Up front, she could hear Alan chatting mindlessly about some TV show he liked, but could tell that no one was listening to the chipper man. She nearly tripped over Phil as he suddenly stopped on the top stair, stepping aside at the last moment and reaching out to grab her elbow to steady her.

"You alright, Chuckles?" he asked, hanging back to walk just beside her. "You looked a little freaked out back there."

"Stop asking me if I'm alright," she said, impatiently marching after Alan and Stu, not glancing back at him. She hardly registered the nickname, not having enough energy of mind to get riled up over what now seemed such an insignificant thing. "There is nothing okay about any of this, so stop asking if I'm alright, because I'm not. Just drop it, Phil."

"I'm sorry," he said, keeping his tone light. "I just wanted to make sure you were doin' okay. That was some intense stuff we just went though. And with the car and the glass—"

She growled, tugging slightly at the collar of her jumper, seriously considering throwing all care to the wind and taking the damn thing off. The heat was absolutely stifling. "I just wanna find Doug, okay? Is that too much to ask? Just focus on finding Doug."

"We are," he laughed, sounding strained. "I am. It's just—is it so bad that I'm concerned about you?"

Will scowled, ignoring the way his words made her heart skip a beat. "I don't hear you asking Stu how he's doing."

"I _know _how he's doing," he's said, gesturing toward their blatantly ill-tempered friend. "He's made it pretty clear. But anyway," he shook his head, "it's different."

She felt his eyes on her face and turned her head to stare, at the pool on the ground floor below. She watched a group of young children wrestling inflatable pool toys, splashing in the gleaming, cool waters. "How is it _different_?"

"You _know _why," he huffed.

Her jaw clenched, her chest tight. "Enlighten me," she drawled, hanging onto the irritation and the concern and the weariness.

"Because I care about you," he said, as if it were obvious. Will focussed on not tripping over her own feet, and not letting the whirlpool of astonished disbelief, tinged with a weak thread of burning, desperate hope, overwhelm her as he continued. His voice was tense and forceful, and low in her ear as they walked on, "And I remember how bad you were when your parents died. And I know how much cars still kinda freak you out. And I know you're worried about Doug. And I know how much you like to bottle everything in and tell everyone you're 'fine', even though you are really, clearly _not._"

"What do you want me to do, Phil?" she demanded, scoffing bitterly in her anger. Unable to believe that what he was saying had any merit beyond this moment. "Collapse, wailing and sobbing into your arms?" she rolled her eyes. "Talking about my feelings is not going to get us any closer to finding my brother."

"I know that!" he cried, laughing with frustration. "God, Will. I just want you to _talk _to me."

"_About what?" _she demanded, stopping suddenly and turning to glare at him. Her heart fluttered in her chest as she looked at his face, and saw, just for a flicker of a moment, herself eight years ago, her face stricken with frantic desperation as he stood there and told her they were done. But now it was his face which held such an emotion.

And it didn't make any sense. Because he had left and he had moved on, and she had moved on, and why did he keep doing this? Why keep doing things and saying things which made her think that maybe, just _maybe..._ "What the fuck do you want from me, Phil?"

He blinked down at her, his chest rising and falling beneath the crumpled blue material of his shirt, the sleeves rolled to his elbow, the slightest sheen of sweat visible on his temple. His hair was an unruly mess of waves and tangles. The line of his jaw was tense, his nostrils flared as he stared at her with all the intensity in the world. He was as unkempt as she had ever seen him, more distressed in this moment that he had been during the entirety of their escape from the gun-toting Asians in the Best Little Chapel's car park.

Her hands were in fists as she forced herself to meet his gaze and keep it, waiting for his answer, trying to keep her lips from trembling, the scowl on her face from faltering. Phil took a breath, deep and shaky, and held it, his thin lips parting as he took a step toward her, his large hands moving to gently take hers. Will's own breath caught as she was forced to tilt her head back to keep his stare. He was so tall. Had he always been so tall? She wondered if he could see her eyes behind her dark sunglasses, wondered if he could see her fear behind her defensive front.

"Will," he said. "I—"

"_Thank god, he's with his father!" _A high-pitched voice cried.

Will and Phil turned to see a strawberry blonde in oversized sunnies, denim shorts and a thin, lacy shirt over a bright pink bra step out of an open door further up the row, and descend upon a stiff Alan reaching for the baby on his chest.

"I was freaking out," she giggled, pulling Carlos from a reluctant Alan. "I missed you, sweetie!" she cooed, pressing pink painted lips to the baby's cheek. Then she turned to grin at Stu, who clung to the railing, eyes wide and speechless as the blonde pressed herself against him. "And I missed _you_." And then, with Carlos in her arms and with three sets of eyes watching on, she leant forward and captured Stu's lips in a searing, passionate, lengthy kiss.

At the sight, their conversation was forgotten and whatever Phil was going to say was put on the backburner. They turned and quickly made their way to the petulant Alan and the presently busy Stu, but though she tried to let go, Will found that Phil had become determined to not release his hold on her hand. Short of ripping it forcefully from his grip, there was little she could do, and there were more pressing matters at hand. Like the woman who was holding Carlos and all but eating Stu's face.

"Well..." Will cleared her throat awkwardly as the kiss went on. Phil grinned beside her, adjusting his glasses as he watched, impressed.

After what seemed like hours, Stu was finally released, their mouths separating with a wet smack. The woman stared at the dazed Stu, biting her smiling pink lips. Then she turned to grin at their gaping faces, tilting her head and giggling, apparently the epitome of 'bubbly'.

"What the hell happened to you guys?" the woman, who Will had to assume was Jade, laughed, staring around at them with wide eyes behind her giant glasses.

"Actually," Phil smiled, all charm, "we were hoping you could tell us."

"What do you mean?" she chuckled with a shake of her golden hair. "I got up this morning, I went to get you guys all coffee and I came back and you were _gone_," she gasped, as if it were some fantastic magic trick. Will wondered if she was always this excitable or if the effects of last night were still yet to wear off. Jade looked to Stu, tilting her head in confusion, "Why are you being so _quiet_?"

Stu straightened, swallowing hard and trying to compose himself after what Will was sure was the make out of his life. "I'm not being quiet," he said.

A flush spread across Jade's delicate cheeks and she giggled delightedly, reaching out and grabbing Stu's hand. "You're so _cute_!" she sighed, tugging him close. She looked to the others, nodding toward the open door. "I gotta feed Tyler. Come inside, you guys." She skipped off, dragging the slightly frightened Stu along behind her.

"Did ya hear that?" Alan sighed mournfully as they shuffled after them. "Baby's name is Tyler."

Will tried to wrangle her hand free from Phil's grip, and he gave her a sideways look, sticking out his tongue cheekily, tightening his hold. She scowled, but he turned and patted Alan soothingly with his free hand. "Yeah," he told the doleful man, "I thought he looked more like a Carlos too, bud."

They moved into the small, slightly cramped apartment. It wasn't much to look at, but it was comfortable. Jade stood in the kitchen, no longer wearing her enormous glasses, pulling a jug of iced tea of out the fridge. They milled about awkwardly in the middle of the apartment, in front of a small living room set.

"Sit down, guys," Jade called, as they continued to gaze about. "Make yourselves at home."

"Nice place," Will said, following the boys to the couch and quickly finding herself pressed between Alan and Phil. A glance to the hairy man saw him all but glaring at Jade, who still held Carlos—_Tyler_.

Will gave him a quick nudge and a look when his eyes flickered briefly to her, but he continued to glare. She decided it was probably best to just ignore him.

"Thanks, Will!" Jade giggled. "You guys want anything? A drink? I got tea?" There were shakes of heads from all but Stu, who raised a hesitant finger and said,

"Tea is fine, thanks."

Jade beamed at him and pulled out a cup from an over-full cupboard. Looking up, her eyes were on Will, "You know, I missed you this morning. I thought we were gonna get brunch?"

"Uh," Will stammered, obviously having no memory of making such plans. She cleared her throat, glancing briefly to Phil, who _still _had refused to release her hand. "Yeah, sorry about that. Things got kinda crazy. Must have slipped my mind."

"Oh well," Jade shrugged, pouring the iced tea. "Next time, yeah? How's the tat, by the way?"

_Oh shit._

Will's entire body tensed, and with his hand around hers and his leg pressed against her, Phil felt it. She stared straight ahead, eyes fixed on the oblivious Jade, as she felt Phil's hard stare on her face, and saw Stu, in the corner of her eyes, lean forward to look around Phil.

"The 'tat'?" Stu inquired. Will's jaw tightened. She wanted to implode on the spot.

"The guy said it would probably sting later," Jade said, putting the jug back into the fridge. "It's not too bad, though, right? Totally worth it."

"Wait, wait," Phil said. "Hold up. You got a _tattoo_?"

She didn't look at him. "Yeah."

Phil's breath hitched, his hand tightened around hers, and next he spoke, his voice had dropped an octave as his eyes seared into her. "_Where_?"

Will did not grace him with an answer.

"Okay, what's up?" Jade asked, sauntering over on legs longer than Will had ever seen, baby in one hand, cup of tea in the other. She playfully narrowed her eyes at them. "You guys are acting weird."

"Look, Jade..." Will said, wanting to lean forward and escape Phil's stare, but with her hand still in his, found herself trapped. "You remember my brother, Doug?"

"Are you kidding?" she giggled as she adjusted Tyler on her hip where she stood before the coffee table, near Stu. Will was amused to see the baby's big blue eyes watching them all with interest. "He was the best man at our wedding." Her eyes turned to her _husband _and she sent him a wink. Stu gave a strained chuckle.

"Yeah," Will nodded, glancing at Phil, who had sat back and was apparently prepared to drop the whole 'tattoo' nightmare for now. "Well, we can't find him and we're getting a little worried," she told the blonde.

Jade didn't seem worried. She shook her head and gave an exasperated laugh, "Oh my god. That is _so_ Doug!"

Will's face dropped, but before she could snap at the woman that no, in fact, that was so incredibly _not _like Doug, Stu brought his cup to his lips, made a terrible noise, and then they watched in shock and disgust as the liquid flew from his mouth with force, spraying the baby with iced tea.

Tyler jolted at the noise, and then, as the cold liquid dripped down his leg, he jerked, flailed and began to cry. "Oh!" Jade cried in surprise, holding her baby tight.

"Dude..." Will cringed, leaning forward to scowl questioningly at Stu, who had his fist over his mouth and who appeared to be in shock.

"Oh, sweetie," Jade cooed to Tyler, looking awkward and flustered. "I'm... I'm gonna go clean him off," she said, moving off into the depths of her apartment, trying to soothe the crying baby. "It's alright, Daddy didn't mean it."

"Oh my god," Stu gasped as Jade disappeared around the corner.

"Stu," Will hissed, staring critically at her friend, who had started rocking back and forth on the chair, hands over his face.

"What the fuck, man," Phil said lowly, frowning seriously at Stu. "You gotta hold it together."

"Holy shit," Stu swore, clearly not hearing him.

"She is super hot. You should be proud of yourself. Congratulations."

"She is wearing my grandmother's ring," Stu said, turning to them, eyes wild.

"What?" Will squinted at Stu over Phil's blue shoulder.

"The ring I'm gonna give to Melissa!" Stu hissed. "You remember, my grandmother's Holocaust ring?"

"Fuck," Phil said, squeezing Will's hand. "Okay."

"She's _wearing_ it."

"I didn't know they gave out rings at the Holocaust," Alan said.

Will looked over her shoulder to shake her head at him, "_Alan."_

"He's okay." Jade appeared in the doorway, carrying a pink-faced but quiet Tyler. She giggled at their tense faces.

"Oh, good," Phil smiled.

"He was just hungry," Jade shrugged, making her way to the single chair and sitting down upon the many blankets that had been thrown over the white leather. "He's fine."

"Great," Will nodded, as Stu wrung his hands. Phil glanced at her briefly before clearing his throat and sending a charming smile Jade's way.

"About last night," he said. "Uh, do you remember the last time you saw Doug?"

"Uh," Jade thought a moment, "I haven't seen him since the wedding." She raised her eyebrows teasingly at Stu, who seemed to shrink back into the sofa, biting his lip and scratching his head.

"The wedding," Stu said, leaning on Will a moment as he reached into his opposite pocket and again pulled out the napkin from this morning, as well as his pen. At this point, Will was considering buying him a notepad, like the ones detectives use. Maybe she'd suggest it to Doug, as an idea for Phil's next birthday. "Okay, great. And, uh, we can't re—what time was that at?"

"Well," Jade said, pulling down the sleeve of her thin, lacy shirt. "It was, um..." And then she slid off her bra strap, flipped the cup of her bra, and suddenly her breast was out of her shirt, fully exposed for all to see.

Will felt Phil jolt beside her. He made a strangled noise of surprise, which he quickly muffled with a fist to his mouth, hurriedly averting his eyes. Stu said up straight, his eyebrows rising in sudden interest, while to her right, Alan openly stared, his lips parted as he panted quietly. Will cleared her throat, feeling an unwelcome tang of annoyance at Phil's reaction.

Meanwhile, Jade appeared to notice none of this, and continued on, "I guess it was around 1, because I had to go back to work and finish my shift. And then when I got out I headed over to the hotel with Tyler."

Phil took a deep breath, giving Will's hand a gentle squeeze before releasing it, and then leant forward to take note on his napkin. Will noticed he made a valiant effort to look at Jade's eyes, and not to her exposed breast, which Tyler had now latched onto and was sucking at hungrily. "And was Doug there then?"

"I didn't see Doug because you guys were passed out," Jade said excitedly, her big eyes wide. "The room was a wreck. So I just curled up next to Stu." She smirked flirtatiously at the man, who sucked in a breath, nodding, and looking rather pained,

"Uh-huh."

Jade wiggled her brows at him, "_Rawr."_

Phil chuckled, leaning back to slide the napkin and pen back into his pocket, and looked approvingly to Stu, "Oh."

Trying not to laugh herself, Will crossed her arms over her chest, and tried to ignore how Phil's hand landed searchingly in her lap, before sliding to rest casually on her thigh, just above her knee. If she ignored it, ignored him, maybe it would stop, and he would stop whatever cruel, stupid game he was playing at and everything would go back to normal.

"I got a question," Phil raised a hand, smiling tensely. "Um, you said when your shift ended. Does that mean you're a nurse?" he asked, glancing briefly to Will. "Or a blackjack dealer?"

"You know this," Jade grinned. "I'm a stripper."

"Mm," Stu nodded, as if it were no big deal that he was married to a stripper. "Hmm."

"Well," she sighed thoughtfully. "Technically I'm an escort, but stripping's a great way to meet the clients."

"Smart," Phil said, smiling at Stu. Will gaped, taking long breaths and trying with all her might to keep from cackling hysterically. She couldn't even look at her friend or else she knew that she would lose it. Seriously, what were the _chances?_

"Savvy," Stu ground out, as if it were no big deal that he was married to an _escort._

"But that's all in the past," Jade beamed, looking like a little ray of sunshine, with her blonde hair, white teeth and a baby at her breast, "now that I married a _doctor."_

Stu winced, shaking his head, "I'm just a dentist."

Jade frowned delicately, her head tilted slightly in confusion, but as she opened her mouth to speak, she was interrupted by what sounded like a radio.

Then the door of the apartment exploded.

Wood ripped from the doorframe as the door itself slammed open against the wall, shattering a picture frame, the force shaking the glass of the window on the front wall. Hot sunlight streamed into the cool apartment, and for a moment there was nothing. Then, a man, in a brown shirt, pale tie and pants, leapt into the room, armed with a gun, which he pointed right at them.

"_Las Vegas Police!"_ the man screamed in the same moment that Will's eyes registered the gun in his hand and the yellow badge on his shoulder. "_Freeze!"_

All four on the couch pressed themselves back, shouting in shock and horror, hands immediately in the air as they stammered and shouted their compliance. Will clutched at Phil's arm, which had crossed over her chest, pushing her back into the couch, his hand holding tightly to her thigh as he leaned in front of her, putting himself between her body and the gun. Alan's head was on her shoulder, his legs in the air as he kicked wildly in the officer's direction. She heard Stu shrieking from Phil's other side. Jade's face was pale and she curled herself around the wailing baby Tyler, cradling his head and lowering her own as the room was filled with desperate and angry shouts.

It made it no less terrifying that the man who now threatened them with a weapon was an officer, but it did make a hell of a lot more sense than anything else that had happened that day. A large, African-American policewoman entered behind him, likewise armed and screaming.

"Shut that baby up! Shut that baby up!"

"Oh, god!"

"Okay, okay, okay!"

And so, with much yelling, they were arrested, cuffed and shoved into the back of a police car. One that hadn't been stolen.

Will sat, her arms cuffed behind her, pressed against the car door, her panting breaths hot on the window, her side crushed against Stu, who was similarly cuffed beside her. She closed her eyes as they pulled away from the apartment complex, and she could see Jade on the balcony, Tyler in her arms, watching them go. She let out a distraught groan and let her forehead fall onto the glass.

Beside her, Stu shifted, making Alan press into Phil, who elbowed him angrily, which made Alan squeak, which made the angry policeman in the driver's seat threaten to do something to them that wasn't actually anatomically possible.

"Hey," Stu huffed, his voice seeped with sarcasm, "It could be worse."

Will ground her teeth and glared. "_Shut up_."


	9. Detained

"Anyone got any coins?"

"Yeah, I got some," Alan said. "Here."

"Thanks, Al," Phil said.

"No problem."

Will sighed, rubbing her blackened fingers together. They sat in the Las Vegas police station, which some psychologist had obviously gone to town on, because the whole place was painted different shades of soothing blue. The large room, filled with desks and low walls, and lined by windows into private interrogation rooms and offices, was bustling with officers and suspects, some tense and angry, some bored and half-asleep.

Will and her companions sat on long, black benches in the corner of the room farthest from the entrance, sharing the space with some rather terrifying and seedy looking men with slimy hair and beady eyes, who had watched her steadily from the moment they had arrived. Two policemen stood nearby, half chatting, half guarding them.

Their separate cuffs had been removed, and replaced with three which bound them together in a line; Will's wrist bound to Stu's, who was bound to Alan, who was bound to Phil. They had had their mug shots taken, their fingerprints recorded, and had been told to sit and wait for the arresting officers to call them in to talk.

That was nearly an hour ago. It was now five minutes to 1, they had been arrested, were likely to be charged for at least one crime they had no doubt committed last night, in addition to stealing that police car, and they were no closer to finding her brother. Will didn't know if she wanted to laugh, or just curl into a ball and cry. How the fuck had this happened?

"Hey, Will?" Alan sighed from Stu's other side.

"Yeah?" she sighed, tilting her head where it rested on the low wall behind them.

"Have you decided yet?" he asked, as always, in the most casual tone.

Will closed her eyes, wishing for the hundredth millionth time that he had not been the one that she had talked to that night, so many years ago. "No, Alan," she told him. "Not yet."

"Right," he nodded, sounding content.

She saw Stu frown, but tilted her head away, and instead watched the approaching group of school kids who were apparently touring the station. She felt herself flush in shame and mortification as the officer acting as tour guide stopped in front of them, and their beady little children-eyes unabashedly stared at them on the bench, no doubt thrilled and terrified to be in the presence of real-life _criminals. _

"So after we take the mug shots," the officer told the class, "we bring them on down here, where they wait to be interviewed by the arresting officers. Trust me, kids. You go not want to be sitting on those benches. We call this place _Loserville_."

Will scowled at the officer, who smirked at his joke, turned heel and led the giggling children away.

"Original," she muttered.

"Asshole," Stu grumbled.

The bench shifted beneath her, and she saw Phil, with a handful of coins, stand and stretch out his arm, still attached to Alan's, as he approached the payphone nearby. She nudged Stu, nodding toward Phil, who was bouncing his legs with nerves and utter discontent.

"Whose he calling?"

"Tracy."

"_Tracy?" _

"Gotta tell her we need more time. Can't exactly drive back today with no Doug."

"Right. What's he gonna tell her?"

"No idea."

Their attention was caught by one of the children, a blond, chubby boy, who had lagged behind the group, staring at Alan. They watched as the kid, who couldn't be more than 11-years-old, whipped out his flip-phone and held it in Alan's direction, apparently intending to take a photo of the man.

Alan, still sore about having to hand off Carlos/Tyler to his own mother, glared at the boy. Then, the moment the shutter clicked, Alan suddenly kicked up his foot, striking the kid's hand and knocking the phone to the ground.

"Alan!" Will admonished in horror, glancing to the officers nearby, who were thankfully too busy talking to notice that Alan had basically assaulted a child.

The kid stumbled back a step, but instead of bursting into tears in fright or throwing a tantrum that Alan had dared to touch his phone, his dark eyes settled on the angry man, and just stared. Then they watched as the boy calmly retrieved his phone from the ground, slipped it into his pocket and walked off to rejoin his classmates.

Will thought about lecturing the man, but honestly did not have the energy to do it. And really, at this age, what would telling him off really do? So she contented in the fact that Stu was seated between her and the sociopathic ass, relaxed against the wall and listened half-heartedly to Phil, who had finally gotten through to Tracy.

"Hey, Tracy! It's Phil... We are at the spa, at the hotel... Of course he's around. Why wouldn't he be around? ... Um, we made a deal; no talking to girlfriends or future-wives. So we're all calling each other's... Uh, you are not gonna believe this. We got comped an extra night at the hotel!"

Listening to him lie was painful. His voice was clearly strained, and at the same time desperately enthusiastic, and Will was astounded that anyone could buy his crap. But if it worked, and it bought them some more time to find Doug and get him home without anyone else finding out how much they had thoroughly fucked up, then she would take it.

"Yeah! The suite is... It's ridiculous. It's out of control. There's like, room service and a butler. I mean, just the works. So, we're thinking of spending the night here and then we're just gonna come back totally relaxed in the morning. ... Yeah, that's why we're gonna get up real early and, uh, we'll be back in plenty of time..."

Somewhere behind them a door opened and an officer stepped out with a clipboard, "Wenneck, Price, Billings, Garner," he called, sounding bored. The four of them perked up and looked about at the sound of their names. "Room 3."

"Okay, Trace, I gotta go," Phil said. "I'll talk to you later."

Will and Stu got to their feet, Stu impatiently pulling at Alan as Phil quickly hung up and turned to them with a satisfied nod.

"Come on, come on," the officer called. "Chop-chop!"

They were led into an interview room, uncuffed, and sat down opposite to a familiar face. The African-American policewoman, Garden by the name on her badge, glowered at them as they sat across the table, rubbing their wrists and waiting politely for her to speak first. But she appeared to be waiting for someone, evidenced by the second coffee cup on the desk, glaring intimidating as she did.

The interview room was almost uncomfortably cold, compared to the rest of the station, and for the first time that day, Will was actually glad to be wearing her jumper. Sat in a hard brown chair between Stu and Phil, Will quietly looked around, unhappy as she was to be in the situation, she was also interested to be, for the first time, in a real interview room, with the low fluro lights, the confession desk in the corner and the one-sided mirror on the wall.

She jumped when the door to the room was suddenly opened, and another familiar face, that of Officer Franklin, who had been the one to kick in Jade's apartment door, screaming for Tyler to shut up, entered.

"Gentlemen. And lady," he greeted politely, strolling slowly over to his chair, file in hand. The four of them sat up straighter in their chairs. "We've got some good news, and we've got some bad news. The good news is we found your Mercedes."

There was a chorus of relief, Phil looking to the slightly grinning Will with a chuckle as Stu threw up his hands, smiling at Franklin. "That's great news."

"That's great," Phil nodded, turning to grin at the happy Alan, patting his shoulder. "See?"

"Yeah," Franklin said. "It's over at impound right now. We picked it up at 5am this morning, parked in the _middle_ of Las Vegas Boulevard."

Their faces immediately fell. "Huh," Will said, clearing her throat.

"Oh," Stu bit his lip.

"In the middle," Phil repeated, scratching his nose. "That's weird."

"Yeah, that is weird," Franklin said, pulling something out of the open file in his hands. "There's also a note." He held up what looked like a wet napkin, squinting at it. "It says, uh, 'Couldn't find a meter, but here's 4 bucks.'"

He threw it on the table before them. Stu straightened it so they could all see.

"That your writing?" Phil mumbled to Will.

"Nah, that's Stu's," she answered, her face drawn.

Stu rolled his head to glare at her, "Could you _kindly_—"

"The bad news is," Franklin continued, raising his voice to effectively silence theirs, "we can't get you in front of a judge until Monday morning." He finished with a non-apologetic shrug, and sat down in his chair.

"_What?" _Will gasped, sitting forward. Stu put his face in his hands. Alan shrunk down in his seat. Phil appeared to be the only one with enough mental power to protest eloquently.

"Oh, no," he said. "Uh, Officer, that's just impossible. No, we need to be in LA tomorrow for a wedding."

Will gave a shaky smile, looking to the policewoman pleadingly. The woman stared back, her eyes hard. "My brother's getting married—"

Officer Garden sat forward, "_You stole a police car_."

"We didn't steal anything," Stu said, and they glanced to look at the dentist as he lied to the police officers. "Um, we found it."

"Yeah, if anything," Alan piped up, unhelpfully, "we deserve a reward or something. Like a trophy."

Phil rubbed his forehead, trying not to wince too obviously. Will avoided eye contact with everyone, massaging her sore neck.

"I see assholes like you every day," Franklin snapped.

Garden glared. "Every _fucking_ day."

"'Let's go to Vegas," Franklin mocked, turning to Garner, waving his hands and making comical faces. "We'll all get drunk and laid!'"

"Yeah," Garden waved her own hands around. "Whoo! Woo-hoo!"

"Woo-hoo! 'Let's steal a cop car,'" Franklin's comical face fell away, and he turned to glare heatedly their way, spitting out his last words, "'cause it'd be really fuckin' _funny!_'"

Will met Phil's awkward gaze. Stu coughed uncomfortably.

"Think you gon' get away with it?" Garden asked, her face hard. "Not up in here."

"Not up in here!" Franklin asserted.

"Okay..." Will breathed in the tense silence that followed, wondering how the hell they were gonna talk their way out of this one. That phone call to Tracy had earned them an extra day. Today was Saturday, the wedding was Monday, the same day these officers were saying they were to go to court. And they still had to find Doug. They _had_ to find Doug.

"Uh. Sir, if I may, um..." All heads turned to Phil Wenneck, the man with an answer to everything. Will held her breath, seeing the wheels turning behind his eyes. "I'm assuming that that squad car belongs to one of you."

"Yeah," Franklin nodded, anger clear in his eyes.

"Yeah," Phil said, and she could almost see a light-bulb appear over his tousled hair. He licked his lips, and suddenly, he was Phil the Player, Phil the Charmer. His eyes were electric as he looked between the officers, captivating them with the smooth inflections of his voice, the expressive gestures of his large hands, and the calm confidence in his face.

"Look," Phil said. "I'm not a cop. I'm no hero. I'm a schoolteacher. But if one of my kids went missing on a field trip," he gave a small shrug, "that would look really bad on me."

The officers blinked and became still. Franklin narrowed his eyes,

"What are you getting at?"

"Yeah, Phil," Stu ground out. "What are you getting at?"

"No one wants to look bad," Phil smiled, all charm. "We gotta get to a wedding, and you guys don't need people talking about how some obnoxious tourists borrowed your squad car last night." The officers shared a glance. "But look, the point is, I think we can work out a deal. Discreetly, of course, ma'am." He raised his brows. "What do you say?"

There was a long moment of silence, and Will worried the cops were going to laugh in his face, or else get mad and charge them for bribery or something. But instead, they watched as Garden glanced down at the clipboard in front of her, and then stiffened. Her lips pursed together and a single brow raised as she slid the board toward Franklin, pointing with one manicured finger at something on the paper.

Franklin paused, reading for a moment, before he suddenly gave a delighted cackle. He turned to face them, and Stu and Phil immediately returned the smile he wore. But Will was wary of the malicious gleam in the officers' eyes.

"Let me ask you a question," Franklin said, looking each of them in the eye, "Do, uh, any of you have a heart condition or anything like that?"

Will's mind raced, wondering what the hell that had to do with anything, and then she made a strangled sound as it suddenly came to her. Flashes of patients in the ER, accompanied by amused but serious police officers watching carefully as she treated the burns, the aches, the _barbs..._

"Uh, no," Phil said, sounding confused and clearly entirely oblivious. Her heart sank as she quickly thought of how to get the hell out of this one.

"I'm pregnant," she blurted out, looking earnestly at the policewoman, who glanced down at Will's belly, hidden beneath the baggy jumper. "Four months."

"You're _what?_" Phil snapped. She glanced to the side to see he and Stu staring at her in wide-eyed shock and horror. Phil gripped the arms of his chair, all charm and coolness suddenly gone as he gazed at her with an expression she could hardly understand.

"Congratulations, Will!" Alan beamed from behind him.

"That's fine," Franklin said, standing from his chair. "We can work with three."

"Will, are you serious?" Stu asked as they stood, sliding their chairs in noisily.

Her jaw tightened as she saw Garden look her up and down. "As of right now, I am," she hissed to her friend, quickly stepping around his other side, putting him between her and Phil, whose blue eyes seared into her, and she saw rage and disbelief and an intensity which was anything but romantic in origin.

She avoided that gaze, and instead looked to Stu, who was stiff beside her, and looking actually offended that she had failed to tell him about her fake-pregnancy. How they believed that she was actually pregnant was beyond her, seeing as she was in Vegas, and had been drinking just as much as they had, but for the moment, she allowed their stupidity to sit with them.

"Alright. Follow me, boys," Franklin said, opening the door and holding it open for them as they made their way around the table. "Mum," he nodded to her, "you can come and watch."

"Wait," Stu said, following behind Will as she led the way out of the interview room. "Watch what?"

They were led into a classroom, filled with the school kids they had seen earlier, sitting in pairs and threes at desks. Like the rest of the station, the room was painted blue. There was a whiteboard on the back wall, posters of the country and the state and the city, and a shelf full of books. Garden and Franklin nodded to the tour-guide officer from before, and to another who stood at the back of the room. Their eyes were filled with wicked anticipation as they marched the four of them to the front of the room. Garden directed Will to stand beside her off to the side, while the men stood in a line before the whiteboard, facing the sea of children.

Stu slouched, clearly awkward to be under the scrutiny of so many, while Alan put a hand on his hip and gamely stared right back, his face hard and challenging. Phil, who should have been the most comfortable of the three, standing in front of a group of kids, being a teacher and all, clearly had other things on his mind. He was tense, his arms crossed tightly over his chest, his face drawn as he glanced over at Will, who steadily avoided his gaze. She would clear everything up when this was over. He would survive the torment til then. Though why he seemed so upset about her fake-pregnancy was a mystery.

"Okay, kids. You're in for a real treat today," Officer Franklin said, sounding gleeful. Will scuffed her shoes on the floor, her brow creased as she waited for the inevitable. "These gentlemen have kindly volunteered to demonstrate how a stun gun is used to subdue a suspect."

"_Oooh!" _came the excited chorus from the children.

Phil and Stu frowned, not sure if they had heard correctly. "Wait a sec. _What?_"

"That's right! Now, there's two ways to use a stun gun..."Franklin told his young audience.

"I don't think that's—" Phil stammered.

Stu turned his back on the approaching officer, shaking his head at Phil, "We are so not doing that—"

"Up close and personal," Franklin said, and then without warning, pressed the end of the stun gun to the side of Stu's neck, and with a large smile, engaged the weapon. Every muscle in the tall, lanky man's body tensed at once, a high pitched shriek tore from his lips, and the moment Franklin removed the gun from his neck, Stu dropped like a bag of potatoes, and there he lay, completely and appropriately stunned.

The class erupted with laughter, as did Officer Garden, who stood beside Will, hands on her belt, completely unamused by the act of what Will was sure was police brutality. Will winced, and hissed in sympathy, but didn't move to help her friend, knowing that Garden would just stop her. Phil was horrified and outraged, his hands on his head as he glared at Franklin, who was recharging the weapon. Alan, hand still on hip, simply stared down at the motionless Stu.

"What the fuck," Phil gasped.

"Or, you can shoot it from a distance," Officer Franklin continued. "Now, do I have any volunteers? You wanna come up here and do some shootin'? Huh?" he asked the class. Every single hand went up, including the tour guide's. Will's eyes were wide as she crossed her arms, covering her mouth with a fist as she looked between Alan and Phil, wondering who was going to be the next victim of the police officers' revenge.

Franklin pointed to a young girl with long dark pigtails, "Alright, how 'bout you, young lady? Come on up here." The girl stood, grinning excitedly as she skipped up front. Franklin turned to the two standing men. "Alright. Let's go, handsome," he gestured for Phil to step forward, "Come on." With a sigh, hands on his hips, Alan stepped up. Franklin snorted and waved him off, "Not you, fat Jesus, slide it on back. You, pretty boy."

Phil's eyes were wide as he looked around helplessly. Will met his gaze with a weak smile, "Good luck."

Slowly, reluctantly, Phil stepped forward, his face slightly panicked, his mind clearly racing as Franklin handed the stun gun to the young girl.

"Alright, now, it's real simple," he instructed her. "All you gotta do is point, aim and shoot. Alright?"

The girl nodded, itching eagerly. Phil squared off with her. As she raised the gun, a red dot appearing on the blue of his shirt, Phil raised his hands and chuckled, trying to charm his way out.

"Okay, look," he told the girl. "You don't really wanna do this."

"You can do this," Franklin said, hands on his knees, staring intently at the girl. "Just focus."

She smiled at the officer, emboldened by the man's words.

"Don't listen to this maniac," Phil said, trying to stay calm. "Let's think this thing through."

"Finish him!" Franklin shouted.

Whether simply obeying the officer, or as a result of her surprise at the man's yell, the trigger was pulled, and almost faster than the eye could see, two barbs shot out of the end of the gun, attached to long, thin wires. And they hit Phil, as they were made to, right on the front of his pants. He managed to grab his crotch in pain and shock, half a beat before the electricity hit, and his every muscle tensed, his face went red and he let out a long string of curses as he pitched to the side and fell onto the ground, groaning loud and long as he was hit with volt after volt.

"Oh my _god_," Will moaned, hardly standing to look. The room erupted into laughter once again, and Will felt rather sick to see her friend and Phil on the ground in pain, and without being able to do anything to help them.

"Yeah!" Franklin cried, cackling in amusement. "Right in the nuts! That was beautiful! Well done. Give her a hand, everybody."

"Good job. Good job!" Garden called, as the children clapped for their classmate. On the ground, Phil continued to groan.

"Hey, we got one more charge left," Franklin said as the class quietened once more. He took the stun gun from the girl, who flittered back to her seat, and removed the wires, ending the flow of electricity. "Anybody wanna do some shootin' up here?" he asked the crowd. Garden moved forward to drag the quietly moaning Phil out of the way, but stopped Will with a hard look when she went to help him. Will took a breath, seeing the man curl in on himself, holding his crotch, wires still attached.

"How about you, big man?" Franklin pointed to a boy, and Will saw that it was, in fact, the same blond chubby boy who had had his phone kicked from his hand by the same man that he was now volunteering to shoot. "Come on up here."

Alan stepped forward willingly, apparently unfazed by the thought of getting shot with a stun gun. He eyed the boy with a steady, challenging stare, and the boy stared right back, as eerily calm as before.

Franklin pressed the gun to his hand. "Okay, same instructions. Just point, aim and shoot." He and Garden stepped back, hands on their belts, as an anticipatory hush fell over the room. The boy slowly raised the gun, not breaking eye contact with Alan for a moment. "There you go," Franklin nodded, watching intently. "That's the stuff. I like the intensity. Eye of the tiger."

The red laser on the end of the gun moved over Alan's stomach and up his chest, and still it continued, until it hovered right over Alan's forehead. "Good. You're holding 50,000 volts, little man. Don't be afraid to ride the lightning." Will waited for one of the officers to stop him, to redirect the gun and point it at his chest, his stomach, anywhere. But they didn't.

And a beat later, without a hint of hesitation, the boy pulled the trigger. Alan gave a shout, his head flying back, his back straight and eyes wide as said 50,000 volts flowed through him. Will cried out in dismay as the children laughed, seeing that one barb had embedded itself in Alan's forehead, and the other in his left cheek. Will could only be relieved that it had missed his eye before Franklin started shouting in sadistic delight.

"In the face! In the face!"

Alan staggered, shouted again, but didn't fall. Garden cackled at her side, grabbing Will's arm when she stepped forward to help the man, who had taken several steps toward the boy.

"Oh, he's still up," Franklin laughed, making zombie-like motions. "He's still up!"

At the sight, the children had stopped laughing, the ones sitting closest at the front actually leaning back in their chairs as their faces fell in fright. As Alan staggered forward, making horrible noises, a girl screamed, and at the sound, the rest of the class slowly descended into terror.

Seeing this, Franklin put up his hands, trying to muffle his laugh as he soothed the frightened children. "Alright, everybody relax. Take it easy," he chuckled, pulling his own stun gun from his belt. "We've seen it before. He just needs a little extra charge."

Both hands were pressed to Will's mouth as she watched Officer Franklin press his gun to Alan's neck and discharge. Alan jolted violently and without further ado, collapsed face-first onto the front desk. The children who sat at it nearly fell out of their chairs, their eyes wide as they stared in horror at the large nearly-unconscious man lying prone on their table.

"There we go," Franklin laughed, looking to Garden who appeared to be having the time of her life. "Some of these big boys," he said, patting Alan's backside, "you gotta give them two shots. Alright, kids, who wants to get their fingerprints done, huh?" All hands shot up, and the excitement returned as the kids near flew up from their seats, eager to forget their moments of fear. Franklin grinned, waving for the children to follow him, "Come on, let's go."

Garden did not permit Will to move until all of the children had vacated the room. She went to Alan first, who was groaning quietly as he regained full consciousness. Helping him to the ground, she swatted away his hands when he reached up to tug at the barbs embedded in his face.

"Holy shit, Alan," she said. "Just hold still."

"Ma'am—" Garden stepped up behind her and put a hand on her shoulder.

Without looking back, Will shrugged the officer off. "I'm a nurse," she snapped, focussing on Alan and wincing at the thought of what she had to do. Why the fuck did they let that kid shoot him in the _face? _"Okay, this is gonna pinch a bit," she warned the man, who simply blinked at her beneath his heavy brows, still dazed. Not wanting to prolong the experience, Will took a hold of the barb, pressed down on the area around his cheek and slowly but firmly pulled it out.

It must have hurt. It definitely hurt. But Alan didn't make a sound as she all but tore the small hook from his chubby cheek, grimacing as a small hole was left behind and a bead of blood dripped from it, rolling to disappear within his beard. She did the same to the one on his forehead, wincing as she did, and this time, Alan did grunt in pain, clearly coming back to himself as she forcefully tugged the small metal spike free, wishing that she had some alcohol wipes and a bandaid.

"Okay, sorry," she said, rubbing the large man's shoulder as he lowered his head, raising a hand to touch the blood on his face. "You'll be okay." She drew a deep breath, standing and looking at her other two patients. Garden had left for the moment, Will could hear her voice nearby however, laughing with someone just on the other side of the open classroom door. "Fuckin' hell," she breathed, running a hand through her hair. "Stu," she called, seeing the man push himself into a sitting position, wincing and holding his neck. "You alright over there?"

Stu nodded painfully, waving a hand in her direction, and she took the answer as 'no, but yes', so she moved onto the quietly moaning Phil, who lay curled up on his side nearby.

"Will..." he groaned as she placed a hand on his shoulder and rolled him over. She quickly took stock of the situation, moving his hands aside to take a look at his crotch, and her face fell.

"Uh, okay," she cleared her throat. "Phil? You—you have a pair of barbed darts in your... well, in your dick. Your clothes should have stopped them before they actually made it all the way through—"

"No, they're in there," he moaned, eyes closed.

She cringed, "They're in there?"

"Yep, I can feel them."

She drew a deep breath. "Okay, I'm gonna have to pull them out."

His face scrunched up and his hands moved to cover his groin as he let out a long groan, "No, Will."

Gently, Will moved his hands aside, and he allowed it, reluctantly. She could see where the barbs had embedded themselves into his pants, deep enough to hit skin, but not as deep as Alan's had gone, surely. She adjusted the wires, still attached, and hesitated when the motion made Phil jolt and swear.

"Okay, okay," she breathed to herself. Would it be worse to tug slowly, prolonging the pain, or to just rip them out, and possibly increase the damage done? He was going to be injured anyway she did this. So, against her better judgement, and with the full knowledge that she probably shouldn't, but was going to anyway, she took a careful hold of both wires, close to the end, near the barbs, pressed down on his pants surrounding the area, her professional mindset ignoring the fact that she was all but groping the man, and then she raised her head to see that he had opened his eyes and was watching her with dread and trepidation.

"Deep breath," she told him.

"Fuck," he trembled.

She tugged hard once, and the barbs flew free.

"_Fuck!" _Phil shouted, sitting up and nearly head-butting her as his hands covered his wounded crotch, his face a picture of agony as he growled and groaned and cursed.

Will threw aside the wires and moved her hands to his back and his knee, rubbing both soothingly as he hunched over, panting as he coped with the pain. His body was warm and solid beneath her hands as she rubbed circles on his shoulder blade, ran her hand along the curve of his spine, let her fingers rise to touch the tips of hair as she squeezed his shoulder, while her other hand rested firmly on his knee, feeling his muscles tense under her fingers.

"There," she said quietly. "Not so bad, was it?"

He was distracted, he was in pain, and yet she couldn't make herself feel guilty for taking the moment to just _touch _him. But through the pleasure of his warmth and his muscles and the feel of him, there was the terrible realisation which settled in her stomach as she realised that she wanted to do much more than just touch him. Even after all this time, she still wanted more; everything about him, everything he was. She wanted him.

"Fuck," he laughed humourlessly. She silently agreed.

Slowly, she slid her hands from his form and let them fall emptily into her lap. After a deep breath, she clambered to her feet, looking around at her dazed, injured and outraged friends.

"Alright," she said. "Let's get the hell out of here."

"Fuck those guys, you hear me? That was bullshit!"

"Stu..."

Will sighed as Stu paced before them, kicking up dust in the hot afternoon sun. They sat, sprawled on the rusted, flaking porch of the impound lot's office. The sign beneath the service window read 'Las Vegas Tow Unit', but the car yard had clearly been several different establishments in its time. Hundreds of cars, old, rusted and new were parked in the large lot, and somewhere within the maze was Sid Garner's prized Mercedes Benz.

An unnamed officer had kindly dropped them off at the impound lot, and they had been grateful not to have to walk. They were sweaty enough as it was. Phil's blue sleeves were rolled to his elbows, and sweat stains were clear to see beneath his and Stu's arms. Alan's dark grey shirt hid his own sweat effectively. Will, herself, felt near death with the heat in her jumper, though she had rolled the sleeves as high as she could.

She was hot and she was tired, and she had near about reached her limits on her patience and ability to stay calm and rational about the fact that her _little brother was missing. _It now being 2:34pm, and the last sighting of Doug being around 1am, according to the hooker, Jade, it had been well over 12 hours that her brother had been lost, in Vegas, after being roofied and drunk. That is, as far as they could remember, of course, thanks to said roofies.

She bounced her knee as she sat, once again cursing the fact that he had lost his phone, but trying not to consider the fact that it had indeed been over 12 hours, which would have given her brother plenty of time to recover from his hangover and contact them. Which meant that he was unable to. Which meant that he must be in some kind of trouble—

Will stopped herself there with a shake of her head. It would do nobody any good to panic now. They would find Doug. He was okay, wherever he was. And there was a perfectly good explanation as to why he was yet to contact them, she was sure. Wiping the sweat from her upper lip, she adjusted her sunglasses on her face and wished she had a hair-tie, as Stu continued his outraged rant. Her knee continued to bounce.

"No! And what the hell was that back there?" he demanded, gesturing toward her violently. "I mean, you're _pregnant? _And you failed to mention this, _why?_"

She rolled her eyes, "I'm not pregnant, you idiot. I just said that so I wouldn't end up tazed like the rest of you."

To her right, Phil dropped his head, some of the tension leaving his shoulders as he released a breath of utter relief. Shifting uncomfortably as he looked over at her with exasperated but contented eyes, she shook her head and looked to the scowling, but similarly relieved Stu.

"How did you know we were gonna get tazed?" he asked, clearly unhappy that she had kept this information to herself.

"Just a hunch," she shrugged, tugging at the collar of her jumper, knowing the concealer must have begun to wear off by now. She could only pray that the men were too hot and tired to look too closely at the slowly-revealed marks on her neck. "They mentioned heart problems and were looking way too smug to be talking about anything good."

"So, you're not pregnant?" he double-checked.

"No!" she laughed, irritated, and reached behind her for her plastic bag of pills, which the police had been good enough to return to her upon release. She shifted through it, a frown on her face. "God, why the hell would _I _get pregnant?" She held out a nearly empty packet to the irate man, eyeing his own neck, where an angry red mark showed on the pale of his skin. "Here, have an ibuprofen. That burn isn't bad but it might swell a little."

"What's an ibuprofen gonna do?" he asked sardonically.

"It should help the pain, maybe the inflammation—" She huffed, shaking her head and thrusting the pills toward him. "I don't know, just take it would you?"

"Well, whatever," he said, snatching it from her hands without so much as a thank you, swallowing it dry. "I'm telling everybody we stole a cop car."

Will took a handful of pills herself, hoping that one of them would do her mounting anxiety some good.

"They let us go," Phil sighed, leaning back on the step where he perched. "Who cares?"

"I care!" Stu exclaimed. "You can't just do that! You can't just taze people because you think it's _funny_. That's police brutality!" They watched Stu with steady eyes as he paced a few steps more, and then raised his hands in exasperated defeat, taking a huge breath. Then, in a much calmer, more Stu-like voice, he declared, "I'm getting a soda. Do you guys want anything?"

"No," Phil shook his head, sunglasses hanging from his top button.

"Yeah, Sprite, thanks," Will ordered, clearing her throat and swallowing hard as a pill stuck, and then went down. Stu nodded, turned on his heel and marched off to find a vending machine.

"My man doesn't shut up," Phil muttered, when Stu was out of sight. "Jesus Christ."

Will, sorting through what was left of her pills, side-eyed him, unamused as she defended her friend, "He's just freaked out."

Phil watched her for a long minute, and she studiously ignored him, her attention on the packets in her hands, clearly not in any mood to talk. With a sigh, he turned to look at Alan on his other side, who sat on the single chair, staring off into the distance, beyond the cars and beyond the lot, looking distressed.

"Alan, you okay?" she heard Phil ask.

Scratching absent-mindedly at the dirty bandage on his left hand, Alan turned to stare at Phil, his face heavy with concern. "I'm just worried," he said. "What if something happened to Doug? Something bad?"

Will jerked, nearly dropping a packet, her scowl deepening as the anxiety boiled within her stomach, sending dark tendrils of fear and dread throughout her chest, licking threateningly at her heart. She took a breath, trying to distract herself by reading the words on the pill packet quietly aloud.

"Ah, come on," Phil said. "You can't think like that."

"I mean, what if he's dead?"

The packet in her hand crumpled as she squeezed her eyes shut against the man's words. "Could you fucking _not_..." she snarled, trying to keep her breathing calm and regulated. Heart stuttering in her chest, she could feel that little ball of black anxiety grow and grow, establishing footholds within her as it edged ever closer to her heart and her mind, dark tendrils stretching through her guts and along her appendages. She swallowed hard as her stomach roiled and she felt herself pale.

She heard Phil move beside her, felt his hand on her shoulder, on her back, "Will, it's okay—"

A hard shrug threw him off as she curled into herself, leaning away from him, her eyes hard as they turned to glare seriously at the man. "Don't touch me."

Phil's eyes were wide, his hand outstretched toward her, "Will—"

"I'm sorry," Alan sighed loudly, drawing Phil's attention. "I just can't afford to lose anybody close to me again. It hurts too much. I was so upset when my grandpa died."

"Oh, Alan," Phil said, running a hand through his hair as he glanced worriedly at Will, who had shuffled further away, out of arm's reach. "I'm s—How'd he die?"

"World War II," Alan sighed.

Will resisted the urge to growl, rubbing her forehead and slowly releasing her breath as she fought to regain her composure. She was okay. Doug was okay. They would find him, and they would figure things out.

"Died in battle?"

"No, he was skiing in Vermont," Alan said, with a shrug. "It was just during World War II."

There was a moment's silence as they registered that bit of information. Oh, yes, Will thought spitefully, that must have been ever so terrible for you, Alan. She shook her head with a snort. What a fucking _prick_.

"Alan..." Phil said, disbelievingly, and then huffed, clearly deciding not to even go there. "Look, guys," he said, sounding calm and confident, "_Doug is fine_."

"Well, why hasn't he called?" Alan immediately asked.

Will threw the bag beside her, throwing up her hands, her body tense to the point of pain as she drew in a slow, tight breath. She pressed her hands to her face, her palms digging into her eyes as she bent over, all of her training, all of her years of therapy, all of her coping mechanisms being utilised at once as she fought off the panic and the horror and the screaming and the terror that something had happened, that someone was hurt, that someone was gone, that _she. Was. ALONE._

"_Alan, shut the _fuck_ up."_

It was supposed to be a shout, a growl, a command. But it came out a whisper, a whimper, a plea. It wasn't her voice, it wasn't her, and she wanted to tear the one who spoke to pieces. She wanted to dig her fingers into her forehead and rip the skin from her skull, she wanted to press her palms into her eye-sockets, deeper and deeper until there was no where left for those soft bags of fluid and goo to go and they burst, she wanted to tear the flesh from her wrists with her teeth, dig out her insides with her fingernails and strew them across the asphalt—

She tore her hands from her eyes, moving them to her hair as she gasped, curling in on herself as she shuddered at the thoughts which had not been heard in years, and of course they were back, of course she was going back to that place. Because Doug was missing. Doug was gone and she was still here, and she would go home and Tracy would know that he was gone by just the look on her face just as she had seen Doug's face and known that her parents were _gone _and then she would go back to that house and it would be _empty _in a way that wasn't bittersweet, that wasn't nostalgic for little brothers all grown up but for little brothers _dead and cold and buried and rotting in a dark place for all time and she would be alone and how could she do this alone and why was she always alone and how could she not follow him to that dark place and no. no. no. . ._no_— _

"—Will."

There were hands on her that she hadn't felt and so couldn't have known to shrug away. She dropped her hands from her hair, slowly detangling her finger from the strands, not remembering to wince at the pain she felt as she released her tight grip. She was panting. Her hands were clammy and trembled as she hugged herself. The anxiety was a living thing, writhing within her belly, curled around her heart like a cat's paw around a mouse.

The world had grown dark and fuzzy around the edges, and she couldn't quite remember where she was, or who was touching her. All she could think of was her little brother. Doug was out there, alone and scared, maybe hurt. And she had to find him. She had to take care of him. Because that's what she _did. _That's what she was _for. _To look after her little brother, when no one else could.

"Hey. _Will_."

Her head turned to the voice, so smooth and confident, and was captivated by the blue eyes which accompanied it. Will knew where she was; she remembered why she was there and who was touching her. Of course she knew. How could she forget him?

A temporary lapse. She hadn't had one in such a long time, she had forgotten what they had felt like. Now she knew.

Blinking at Phil, she wondered if he had the slightest inkling of what she had just experienced. She wondered if under all that confidence and swagger and charm, he was as worried as she was. She looked down at where he held her hand, his fingers laced with hers, while his arm had wrapped around her shoulders, tying her up in his warm, sweaty embrace. Comforting.

"Look," he said, his voice close to her, but speaking to another as well. "I don't know where Doug is, or why he hasn't called, but we're gonna figure it out. You hear me?" He squeezed her hand, gently resting his head on top of hers, nuzzling her hair. "We'll figure it out."

Will took a deep breath, and believed him. They were going to find Doug. He was going to be okay. She was going to be okay.

_We'll figure it out. _

"I'll tell you another thing," Stu said, returning with the sodas. "6-1 odds our car is beat to _shit."_

Will sighed, rubbing her sore eyes with the back of her hand, gingerly wiggling out of Phil's embrace, grateful, but not prepared to allow herself to touch him any longer. Not when she so badly wanted to.

Stu was too caught up in his mania to notice they had been sitting so close, and ignored Phil when he shook his head, "Stu, not now."

"No, seriously," he chuckled darkly as he handed Will her drink, "how much do you wanna bet it's like, fucked up beyond all recognition?"

Will stared at the soda in her hand for a long moment before slowly cracking it open. Phil rose to his feet and strode to stand before Stu, lowering his voice seriously,

"That's enough. Look, Alan's seriously worried, okay?" he told him. "And Will is—" She met his gaze when he glanced to her, sipping her Sprite and feeling less and less angsty as the sugar coursed through her veins and cooled the boiling in her and she felt more alive than somewhere in between. Phil huffed, turning back to his bloody-shirted friend. "Let's not freak them out any more."

Stu gave a heavy sigh, slowly trudging over to Alan. Phil moved to stand in front of Will, wiping his face with a hand and leaning against the pole to her left, his body blocking out what sun the porch did not. She wondered if he was going to ask her if she was alright, but he didn't. And she was glad, and impressed that he had actually listened before. So he stood over her as she sipped her Sprite, and they were quiet together, and it was comforting in a way that shouldn't have made any sense to her, but did.

"I'm sorry, Alan," a slightly sardonic but mostly calm Stu said, between gulps of his Coke, patting the hairy man half-heartedly. "You know what? We'll search the car for clues, and everything's gonna be okay."

Her Sprite was half-empty by the time the sound of screeching tyres filled the calm, tired quiet which had fallen over the group. Will took a long gulp, draining most of the drink, before she noisily smacked her lips and nodded toward the lot.

"Here she comes," she said.

"Oh shit," Stu said, covering his face with a hand.

Phil kept his back turned, straightening and crossing his arms as he groaned, "I can't watch."

"Please, god."

"Just tell me what it looks like."

"Not looking. Not looking."

And like a miracle, like the hitting the jackpot, like the surprise of the fucking century, Sid Garner's silver ragtop Mercedes Benz pulled up before them, shining in the hot sun, without a scratch on her.

"Hah!" Will cried, raising her Sprite and laughing in astonishment. "Well, would ya look at that."

Stu dropped his hand, blinking in genuine surprise. "Wow."

"Oh, thank god," Phil sighed in relief.

"Alright!" Stu laughed, clapping a smiling Alan on the back.

"You see?" Phil said, sliding his glasses onto his face as the impound boy got out and threw them the keys. Phil grinned at the tired, sweaty and sore group as they picked themselves up from the porch and stumbled toward the gleaming car. "It's gonna be alright."

_We'll figure it out, _Will thought. And off they went.

"Anything?"

With Phil behind the wheel, cruising away from the impound lot, the other three got to work searching the vehicle for anything that might give them a clue as to Doug's location.

"Hmm, I got a cigar," Stu reported, sitting up from where he had been sifting around the foot-space in the passenger seat.

In the back seat, Will coughed and shoved Alan's ass out of her face, sitting up and moving over as the man dug beneath the seat enthusiastically. Will held up her findings,

"I found a twenty with a lipstick kiss on it," she frowned, and squinted at the shade. "Pink. Hm."

"Oh!" Alan cried, backing up and clambering onto his seat, inspecting what looked like a small black boot. "I found, uh... These are some black shoes."

"Whoa," she said, taking the heeled leather boot from him and turning it over in her hand. "These are tiny."

"They women's shoes?" Phil asked, glasses on, and eyes on the road.

"I don't know," Alan said.

"They gotta be," Will said, handing them forward to Stu.

Phil glanced aside to see the boot in question. "Whose are those?"

"I don't know," Stu said, peering within the shoe to read the label. "It's a men's size 6."

"That's weird."

Will peered over Stu's shoulder, but there wasn't much else to see. Beside her, Alan held up something long and clear and filled with a viscous white substance. "What is this," he asked, "a snakeskin?"

"Oh god," Will cried, immediately throwing herself toward the door, as far away as Alan and the open, used condom he was holding in his hand. "Alan, _no_."

Alan cackled, and in a smooth motion threw it in Stu's lap.

"Oh, come on!" Stu cried, jumping in his seat, fumbling to get it off him. "Ew!"

Phil glanced over in disgust, his shoulders rising as he leant away from Stu, "That's a used condom, Alan!"

"Oh, god," Stu gagged. "Blergh!" He grabbed hold of the thin plastic long enough to fling it into the backseat.

It landed, limp and soggy on Will's shoulder and she squealed, horrified. "Stu, you feral! _Gah_!"

She flicked it off her jumper, and it hit Alan on the forehead, falling onto his stomach with a wet plop. "Oh!" Alan cackled. Will giggled, her face scrunched up in disgust as she fearfully checked there was nothing on her jumper.

"Get it out of the car," Phil demanded, trying to stay serious.

"Gross," Stu groaned, chucking and wiping his hands on the leather seat. "It's wet!"

"I don't want the thing," Alan giggled, and then threw it onto Phil's shoulder.

"Hey!" Phil yelped. "Come on!" He jerked, trying to shrug it off his shoulder, and the car swerved to the wrong side of the road. "I got jizz on me!" he yelled. "Jesus Christ, guys!

"Get it off," Will giggled, not moving to help.

"Get it out," Stu grinned.

Eyes now completely off the road, Phil quickly wound down his window, grabbed the condom off his shoulder and flung it out with a sharp, "_Fuck!_"

Will gave a short shriek as they sped off the road, up the curb and onto the dusty sand that coated the outskirts of the city. Phil slammed on the breaks. "Oh, my god," he shuddered, and then turned on them. "Alright, what the fuck, man?" he shouted at Stu, who tried to muffle his chuckles. "We gotta get this shit together, guys!"

Will sat back in her seat, slouching down and covering her mouth with her fist as Phil turned his angry eyes on her, but before anyone could say any more, there was the sound of something thumping on metal, and silence fell as they looked at one another in confusion.

"What was that?" Alan asked, as the thumping continued. Will felt the vibrations as her ears caught the direction of the noise and she turned to look confusedly at the seat behind her. Then her stomach dropped, and she spun around to gape in wide eyed shock at Phil and Stu, who appeared to have come to the same realisation.

"It's in the trunk," Stu blurted, staring at Phil in slowly dawning horror. _"Doug's in the trunk!"_

"Oh, fuck!" Phil exclaimed, tearing the keys from the ignition as they each clambered for their doors. "Holy shit!"

Will was out like a shot, only sliding slightly on the loose sands in her Converse as she sprinted around the car and put both hands on the metal of the trunk, tugging uselessly at the handle as her heart pounded in her chest with excitement. "Doug!" she shouted. "Doug!"

"Holy shit!" Stu cried, joining her at the back of the car, patting the trunk as Phil staggered across the sands, fumbling with the keys.

"Open it! Open it!" they demanded.

"Okay, okay, okay!" he nodded, taking a sure hold of the key and pushing it into the lock.

"Open it!" Will shouted.

"Okay, okay!"

The key turned, the trunk was flung open and they stepped forward as one, wide grins on their faces as they readied themselves for a reunion with their lost friend and brother, _"Doug!"_

Will's vision was filled with naked flesh, and next she knew, she had stumbled back from the trunk, slipped on the sand, and was on her ass, looking up at Phil, who had staggered back with the force of what looked like a small Asian man, who had sprung from the trunk and onto Phil, wrapping his legs around his shoulders, leaning over him, wielding what looked like the car's tyre iron. As they watched, too stunned to speak, the Asian man, who wore only a pair of black socks upon his feet, a gold bracelet upon his wrist and several jewelled rings on his fingers, swung the tyre iron high, and then brought it down across Phil's back with great and violent vigour, repeatedly.

"Oh, god! Please!" Alan screamed as the tyre iron came down again and again, "Please! Please stop!"

With a grunt and a cry, Phil managed to throw the entirely naked man from him, and toward Stu, who stumbled back, but not fast enough, as the man turned his attention to him. A quick thrust of the iron to Stu's stomach and a blow to his back as he bent over in agony, sent him crumbling to the ground.

Will watched in horror, scrambling back around the car, cowering behind the open driver's side door as the man turned back to Phil, and with a wide swing, struck him across the face. Phil spun with the force of the blow, his glasses flying from his face as he crumpled to the dusty ground.

Then the man shuffled toward Alan, on the other side of the car from where she crouched, and Alan hurried back, hands up in surrender as the man approached, brandishing the tyre iron like some sort of sword.

"Whoa! I'm with you, I'm with you!" Alan cried desperately, a hand raised to stop the approaching man.

"You gonna fuck on me?" the man demanded, looking furious.

"Nobody's gonna fuck on you!" Alan screeched, his voice sharp and quick in his terror. "We're on your side. I hate Godzilla! I hate him too. I hate him! He destroys cities! Please!" He took a breath and tried to speak calmly and rationally to the angry Asian. "This isn't your fault. I'll get you some pants."

The man blinked, and in the next moment, flung the tyre iron from his hand, straight at Alan's head. It hit with force, and Alan collapsed, clutching his face with a strangled cry.

Will panted, coated in dust, and stumbled back from the car door as the naked man made a run for it, sprinting away across the dusty field toward the city in the not-too-distant distance. When she was sure he wasn't about to turn back and come after them again, she staggered back towards the car.

"Holy shit!" she cried, stunned by what had just happened so quickly. "Holy shit, are you—are you guys okay?

"What the fuck was that?" Phil gasped, crawling toward the car, rolling on his back by the wheel. Alan coughed thickly as Stu groaned. She shakily and slowly followed him around the back of the car, to the side where the three injured men lied on the ground, clutching their beaten bodies and groaning.

"I have internal bleeding," Stu moaned, clutching his stomach and rolling over in the dirt. "Somebody call 911."

Will took several quick, deep breaths, running a dusty hand through her hair, and then dropped to her knees at his side.

"Okay, Stu, let me look—"

"That was some fucked up shit," Phil cried, the dust on his face wet with his blood. "Who was that guy? He was so mean."

A quick look over Stu, and she was content that aside from what was sure to be some beautiful bruises, he was going to live. Though she couldn't tell it from the way he rolled about groaning like he was close to death. "You'll be okay," she told him, pulling down his shirt and gently patting his arm as he squinted up at her, his face a picture of pain.

She turned to Phil, shuffling on her knees to kneel before him as he spat blood on the ground. "Phil, come here. I need to—oh, god." Her eyes grew wide as she gently turned his head to inspect his face. His lip was spilt, and was near spurting blood, staining his collar, but head wounds were notorious bleeders, so it likely wasn't near as bad as it looked. But what concerned her was the already purple and black bruise on his jaw.

She ran her fingers gently across the area, thinking of all the dozens of terrible things which could have occurred in an altercation against an aggressor with a metal weapon, and thought, though they probably wouldn't believe it at the moment, that these three were very lucky.

Will swallowed hard, letting herself delicately stretch her hand across his face and trace his cheekbone with a swipe of her thumb, all under the guise of healing, before she sat back on her haunches to meet his wide, fearful and shocked eyes.

"No, you'll be okay," she assured him, thinking he must be terrified that he might lose his good looks. God forbid he might have had his nose broken. "Just let me—," she shook her head, gazing around at the fallen men. She felt Phil's hand wrap around her own, and she squeezed it comfortingly, thoughtlessly as she looked about in shock.

She remembered then, "My pills. I'll get you—" Her hand slipped from his, though he tried to hold on. Not noticing even this, she stumbled over Stu as she made her way back around the car, opening the back door to retrieve her bag of pills. "Shit," she laughed, near hysterically as she returned; tripping over Stu's long outstretched legs on the way back. She fell to a knee and stayed there, sitting back against the tyre as she tipped out her bag and grabbed every painkiller she had. "That was _insane_—"

Alan sat against the front tyre, on Phil's other side, panting heavily, with a large red welt across his forehead where the iron had impacted. But he was awake and breathing, so she wasn't too concerned.

"Guys," he called then, his voice dismal. "There's something I need to tell you." Stu and Phil closed their eyes, readying for whatever the hell Alan had felt he needed to say at this exact moment. "Last night on the roof, before we went out..." He took a deep breath. "I slipped something in our Jägermeister."

There was a beat of silence.

"_What?" _Phil said, his voice an octave higher than usual as he turned his head, clutching his stomach and panting heavily, to stare at the guilty Alan. Slowly, Stu and Will turned to face the chubby man also, his words slow to register as the shock of what had just transpired and this new revelation sank in.

"I'm sorry," Alan said, frowning at the ground and shaking his head, "I fudged up, guys."

"I'm sorry," Will said, laughing much closer to hysterically now, "You _what_?"

"You drugged us?" Stu asked, pushing himself up, wincing through the pain as he gaped at the apologetic man. Will forgot the pills as she stared at Alan, incapable of truly comprehending exactly what he was saying.

"No," Alan protested. "I didn't_ drug_ you. I was told it was ecstasy."

As Stu shuffled closer, Phil struggled into a sitting position, their pain slowly forgotten as they confronted the guilt-ridden man. "Well, who told you it was ecstasy?

"The guy I bought it from at the liquor store," Alan cried, his face reddening.

"Why would you give us ecstasy?" Stu asked, anger beginning to taint his dumbfounded tone.

"Cause I wanted everybody to have a good time and I knew you guys wouldn't take it," Alan said, she supposed as an attempt to explain his fucked up decision. And it was fucked up. It was the most fucked up thing Will had ever heard.

"Oh my god," she breathed, pulling up her knees as her face fell into her hands. "Oh my _god."_

"It was just one hit each," Alan cried, as if it made all the difference. "I used to do three hits a night!"

"But it wasn't ecstasy, Alan," Stu snapped, clambering to his knees. "It was _roofies!_"

"You think I knew that, Stu?" Alan frowned at him. "The guy I bought it from seemed like he was a real straight shooter."

"I'm sorry," Stu sneered, sarcasm thick in his outraged voice, "You mean the drug dealer at the liquor store _wasn't_ a good guy?

"Let's just calm down," Phil droned, sprawled out across the side of the car, eyes closed, clearly in pain. Beside him, Will tried not to hyperventilate, feeling as if she were going to implode into a million pieces. She tugged harshly at her hair as Stu punched the ground.

"You fucking calm down!" he bellowed at Phil. "He drugged us!" He got to his feet, the tall man looming over the seated Phil. Will tightened the ball she had curled into, tugging harder at her hair. "I lost a tooth! I married a whore!"

"How dare you!" Alan shouted, glowering at Stu. "She's a nice lady!

"You are such a fucking moron."

"Your language is offensive."

"_Fuck you!"_

"Alright," Phil said, pulling himself up the car before staggering forward to put a hand on Stu's chest, backing him several steps away from the still-seated Alan. "Let's just take a deep breath, okay? Alright, seriously, this is a good thing, guys."

"A good thing?" Will repeated from her ball of oh-my-god-what-the-fuck-what-the-fuck. "What the fuck are you on? Cause it certainly isn't _ecstasy!_" she finished with a demented, sardonic cackle directed at Alan.

"Look, at least it's not some stranger who drugged us for god-knows-what reason," Phil reasoned.

"Yeah!" Alan nodded.

"Yeah, you're right, Phil," Stu nodded sarcastically as he brushed the sand and dust from his clothes, unsuccessfully. "It's_ totally_ a good thing. We're so much better off now." He staggered back over, leaning forward to rest his hands on his knees, attitude in full form. Phil closed his eyes, hands on hips as he tried to straighten his back. "Here's something I would like to remind you of," Stu said. "Our best friend Doug is probably facedown in a ditch right now with a meth-head butt-fucking his corpse!"

Will's head dropped into the dark space between her shoulders and her knees, her arms folding over her head as she took ever shallower breaths. Phil shuffled to stand above her, leaning heavily on the car as he reached down to squeeze her arm in a way she supposed was supposed to be comforting. In truth she hardly registered the motion.

Because what filled her now was not anxiety for her brother, or fear for her own quickly deteriorating mental state; now, as she sat in the desert, with her little brother gone, and having no leads to find him, and with Stu wincing with every step he took, Phil covered in his own blood and her goddamn lower back stinging with pain, right over where that fucking tattoo sat, all that Will Billings felt was rage.

"That's highly unlikely," Alan said.

"It's true," Stu spat.

"Does not help," Phil sighed, putting himself between Stu, and the man who had ruined their lives.

Will raised her head suddenly, her face drawn and her body tense as her hands curled into fists over her knees, and then in one smooth motion, she stood, strode the few steps to where Alan sat and bent down, taking fistfuls of his shirt, her face contorting in rage as she snarled at his terrified face, "This is _your_ fault!"

"Whoa, hey, Will!" Two hands grabbed her and tugged her away, but she struggled against them, her enraged eyes burning into Alan's stupid, fat mug.

"This is all your _fault!_ I don't fucking believe you. And you _knew_ this _whole time_!" Phil held her around the waist, murmuring soothingly to her, things that she was too angry to hear. "You drugged us, Alan!" she yelled furiously, dust kicking up around them as Phil held her still, stopping her from descending upon Alan and beating his face into the dirt with the tyre iron that was _right there._

"Who the _fuck _does that! _My brother is missing!_ He's out _there_ somewhere," she pointed heatedly toward the city, gleaming in the afternoon sun, so innocent and inviting from afar, and yet so nefarious within, especially in the company of those who could not be _trusted. "_ALONE, because you thought it would be a swell fucking idea to spike our drinks with a drug you were too stupid to check was even the right one before you bought it! We could have _died!_ Doug could be dead, right now. And it's all because of you. _You fucking prick!_"

She kicked dirt in his direction, the effort lifting both feet from the ground and making Phil stumble, and she was satisfied to see the cloud settle around Alan, making him cough. She stilled then, glaring heatedly but having said her piece.

"You done?" Phil asked, sounding irritated, his strong arms unyielding around her. She forced her muscles to relax against him, taking a deep breath and turning her eyes from Alan. "You good?" She nodded and he slowly, hesitantly released her, keeping a hand on her arm just in case she leapt at the man on the ground, whose lip was trembling as he stared at her with wet eyes.

"Alright. Let's get our shit together, guys," Phil huffed, leading her around the other side of the car from Alan, pausing to pick up his glasses from the ground, and then to slam the trunk closed, before opening his door, adjusting his seat forward and nodding for her to get in. "Let's go back to the hotel, and I'm gonna make a couple calls. Maybe Doug's back there. Maybe he's asleep." Will clambered into the back, leaning into the warm leather seat with a sharp sigh, kicking at the bag of pills as she dropped them at her feet. Phil growled as he readjusted his seat and all but threw himself into it. "Come on!" he shouted at the other two, who had yet to move. "Let's go."

Through the passenger-side window, she saw Alan click his fingers and outstretch his hand, no doubt asking for help to get up. She saw Stu smack his hand aside, and then she watched as Stu flung the door open, heard a dull thud, and then Alan's low, "_Ow_."

"Oh, god," Stu groaned. "Oh, god, are you okay?" He asked, bending down to peer at Alan where he lay prone on the dusty ground. "Alan, I'm sorry."

"Yeah," Alan grunted, as Stu helped him to his feet. "I'm fine."

It took another few minutes for the men to brush themselves off, and then for Stu to climb inside, sitting in the backseat beside her, while Alan set himself up in the front.

"Everyone ready? Everyone sorted?" Phil asked impatiently, as Alan pulled the door closed and clicked on his belt. "Good."

Will stared out the window as Phil pulled back onto the road and made their way back into the city, the radio was turned up loud, discouraging any of the disgruntled occupants of the vehicle to talk, and no doubt descend into another heated argument. But one member of their party just couldn't seem to get the hint.

"Will?" Alan called over the stereo, turning around in his seat to look at her. "Hey, Will, I'm sorry. I really am."

Will took a long, calm breath, not turning from the window as she answered as coolly as if telling him the time, "If my brother_ is_ dead, Alan Garner. I will kill you."


	10. Tyson's Tiger

"Hey, Will. Do you think I should put some ice on this?"

Will pressed herself into the corner of the elevator, arms crossed, and glasses on her head, studiously ignoring him, and refusing to look at anyone else otherwise.

Alan gingerly touched the large welt on his forehead, where the iron had struck him. "Will, am I going to need stitches? What do you think?"

Stu, who stood close at her side, arms similarly crossed over his chest, shifted and glanced at the man with incredulous irritation, "Shut _up_, Alan."

How the hell they had been let past security was beyond her. Covered in sweat, dust and blood, their skin bruised and battered, and their walk more a limp than a stride, the four of them were a mess.

They had no plan.

They had scoured the car, their pockets, their phones, and there was nothing. They had no idea where Doug was. Will had put forward the idea of calling the police and reporting him missing, but it had been put down with little consideration. She was too tired to argue. She was too tired to care that she was overheated in her baggy jumper and that she had just had a mental breakdown and screamed at Alan, who was too stupid and immature to really understand what he had done wrong.

The elevator dinged, and they shuffled down the hall toward their room, Stu sticking to her side, Phil in the lead, and Alan at their back. Phil pulled the room key-card from his pocket as they reached the door, but as he went to open it, Alan piped up behind them.

"Wait, guys. _Guys._"

Slowly, they turned to stare at the man where he had stopped walking, their faces drawn as he scratched his stomach and frowned.

"What about the tiger?" he hissed. "What if he got out?"

For a moment they blinked at him, and then let out frustrated groans as one.

"Shit," Will moaned, rubbing her neck.

"Oh, fuck," Phil scowled. "I keep forgetting about the goddamn tiger. How the fuck did he get in there?"

"I don't know," Stu said, turning to glare dryly at Alan, "because I don't _remember_."

Will snorted with a bitter roll of her eyes.

"Shh. Stu," Phil scowled at them both, not wanting a repeat of before. "Stu, keep it down."

Alan cleared his throat, looking seriously at Stu, unfazed by the man's sarcastic ire, or rather, completely oblivious to it. "Because one of the, uh, side effects of, uh, roofies is memory loss," he said.

Stu blinked at him, astonished, "You are literally too stupid to insult."

"Thank you," Alan replied.

"Hey!" Phil hissed, unlocking the door and pulling on the doorhandle, pressing close to the wood as frowned at them over his shoulder. Stu shook his head, Will sighed, and then they turned to watch Phil slowly open the door and peek inside, hand on handle, ready to jump back and slam it shut at the first sight of the giant cat. He stepped within, and they hesitated in the hall. He poked his head out, scowling tensely at them. "Hey, come on!" he whispered.

Pushing Stu ahead of her, Will entered the suite. They took two slow steps before they stopped short. Synthetic chords echoed through the room, humming through the speakers built into the roof, and they all glanced at one another with wide, wary eyes.

"Did we leave the music on?" Phil whispered.

Will attached herself to Stu's arm, holding gentle but firm as she glanced around, taking careful steps after Phil, who peered ahead of them, looking for the source of the sound. "What is that?" she muttered to Stu, listening to the lyrics. "Phil Collins, right?"

"_In the Air Tonight. _Phil Collins, yeah," he whispered back. "I think I danced to this at prom—"

They jumped, startled as Alan let the door slam shut behind them, and Phil turned on him angrily, "_Hey!_ Shh!" Shaking his head as Alan just shrugged, they made their way further into the room. "Don't make any sudden movements," Phil told them, stepping into the hall.

He let out a cry of surprise as he bumped into someone who definitely wasn't here when they left. "Whoa!" he leapt back, crashing into Stu, who let out a high shriek, grabbing onto Will, who stumbled back into Alan.

"_Who the hell are you?" _Phil demanded of the man, who turned to face them.

The large build of the man was intimidating. As was the fine cut of his suit jacket, the smooth deep red silk of his shirt, the gold necklace at his throat and the fedora on his dark, shiny head.

"No, who are _you_?" the guy stepped forward, eyes wide and intense as he thrust out his chest toward Phil.

Will's grip was tight on Stu's arm, but the hand he pressed over her hands was just so as he backed away. Phil raised his hands to stop the guy, and Will's heart tripped to see the man barrelling down on him.

"This is our room," she cried. "What are you—?"

She was cut off by a voice yelling from deeper within the suite, "Quiet, quiet!"

They glanced around, startled, and saw the dark head of a man in a pressed white shirt, dress-pants and shiny shoes, sitting at the grand piano. As he turned on the piano stool to face them, she saw Phil's jaw drop and Stu gape incredulously.

"_Mike Tyson?" _

"Shh!" Mike Tyson, former undisputed world heavyweight champion boxer, stood, his broad shoulders rocking as he swayed with the music. "This is my favourite part coming up right now." The music swelled, drums sounded, and Tyson beat his hands in time to the music, his face, signature tattoo and all, scrunched up in concentration and then he sang along, "_I can feel it coming in the air tonight." _

As he sang, their attention was taken from the intimidating Fedora Guy and they slowly approached the ex-boxer, stunned as he pointed at them, "Need a chorus line, guys."

"_Oh, Lord," _Alan sang. They looked at him, too shocked to comprehend what was happening.

"_But I've been waiting for this moment, for all my life," _Tyson sang to them.

Was this actually real life? She glanced to the side, still half-hidden behind Stu, and saw Fedora Guy come to stand by Tyson, looking amused. He met her eyes and she shifted away, now fully hiding behind Stu.

The men were still singing, Phil and Stu's faces actually breaking into smiles as their mind registered what they was seeing; Mike Tyson in their hotel suite singing Phil Collins to them.

Tyson pointed at them, smiling himself, "One more time, guys."

"_Oh, Lord—"_

And then, faster than their eyes could follow, Tyson's face set, his fist swung back, and then flew into the side of Alan's head. The sound of impact was sickening, but not more so than the sight of Alan flying through the air, hitting the ground with a solid thud and then lying there prone, and unmoving.

"Alan!" Will shrieked, reacting first as she pushed herself away from Stu, near shoving him over in her haste to reach the unconscious man. She knelt at his side as the others gave shocked and indignant shouts, her heart pounding in her chest as she checked his breathing and his pulse, hands shaking only slightly as she dimly registered the yelling at her back.

"Oh, Jesus!" Phil cried, sliding on his knees to hover uselessly as Will ran her trembling fingers quickly over the bones of Alan's head and face, checking for blood or breaks. Stu laced his fingers behind his head, standing over Will, who was muttering fervently under her breath, and looked in a panic forward and back between Tyson and their unconscious companion. "Oh, fuck!" Phil cried, "Why did you do that?"

The music was cut off as Tyson and his crony stood over them, their faces stern. Phil clambered to his feet, stumbling over to stand before them, in front of Alan and the nurse, and Stu stepped up to stand at his side.

"Mr Tyson would like to know why is his tiger in your bathroom."

Will gave a strangle laugh of disbelief, sitting back on her haunches, a hand on Alan's back as she looked at them with disgust through the gap between her two friends, "This is about the _tiger_? You fucking psychopath, you could have killed him!"

"Wait, just—" Phil stammered, gesturing wildly in his shock. "Hold on, hold on! That was completely unnecessary," he cried, gesturing to where Will was carefully rolling Alan onto his back to ease his breathing. And then Phil's brain diverted as he locked eyes with Tyson, "I'm a huge fan. When you knocked out Holmes, that was—!"

"_Phil,_" Will admonished, glaring at him as he glanced guiltily over his shoulder.

"Explain," the Fedora Guy demanded.

Phil took a breath. "Alright, look, we were drugged last night. We have no memory of what happened."

"It's true," Stu nodded. "We got in all kinds of trouble last night and now we can't find our friend. And if you wanna kill us, go ahead because I don't care anymore."

From her place at Alan's side, Will looked up in astonishment at her friend, as Phil turned on him,

"Stu, what are you talking about?"

"What?" Stu shrugged, sounding entirely unlike himself. "I don't care."

Fedora Guy seemed unamused, "Why the fuck would you wanna steal his tiger?"

Squeezing Stu's shoulder for a moment, Phil was quiet as he searched for an answer, and then he turned with a shrug and a smile and laughed, the King of Bullshitting, "We tend to do dumb shit when we're fucked up."

Tyson's eyes narrowed, "I don't believe these guys, man."

"Wait," Phil said, "how did you guys find us?"

Fedora Guy lifted an arm and revealed a dark swathe of material. "One of you dropped your jacket. Found it in the tigers' cage this morning."

There was a beat, and then Stu pointed at it, and exclaimed excitedly, "That's Doug's!"

Will tore her gaze from her unconscious patient, eyes widening as she shot to her feet, "What?"

"It's Doug's jacket," Stu cried, catching it as Fedora Guy threw it to him. Stu turned to her as she strode to his side, her eyes on the material, her fingers finding a sleeve. "I remember," he told her, "you bought this for him last Christmas. It's his!"

She nodded silently, clutching the suit jacket in her hand. _Doug._

"Yeah, Doug," Fedora Guy nodded. "His wallet and his room key is in there."

"No, that's our missing friend," Phil said, eyes alight with excitement.

Fedora Guy scoffed, "I don't give a fuck."

"Did you guys see him?" Stu asked.

"I was fast asleep," Mike Tyson said, sounding bored.

"Yeah, 'cause if he was up," Fedora Guy said, annoyed, "this shit wouldn't have gone down so smoothly."

Tyson smirked and leant over to Fedora Guy, laughing, "Maybe one of the tigers ate his ass like Omar."

Fedora Guy removed his fedora and held it to his chest, looking down with solemn eyes, "Respect."

Tyson continued to chuckle as Phil scratched his face and asked almost reluctantly, "Wha...What happened to Omar?"

"Oh, don't worry about Omar," Tyson smiled, "he's not with us no more."

Phil winced, and Will's grip tightened on the jacket in her hands, looking down to inspect it for tears or blood, but there was nothing. And it was unlikely that they stole and brought back Mike Tyson's tiger to the hotel room if that same tiger had just mauled and killed her brother. But if they had been to Tyson's house...

"Okay," Phil said, taking a breath. "I know this is asking a lot but do you think there's any way that we could to your house and just look around, see if there's any clues for our friend?"

"Absolutely," Fedora Guy nodded, eyebrows raised. "How else you think we're gonna get the tiger back anyway?"

And with that, Fedora Guy turned on his heel and made for the door, "Come on, champ," he called over his shoulder, and Tyson grinned at them and followed.

"What?" Will stammered, her face falling as her eyes filled with dread.

"Wait, I'm sorry?" Phil called, his face pinched in confusion. Stu was stiff at her side.

Fedora Guy turned to face them with a mocking shrug, "We're not gonna put it in the Bentley. You brought it here, you bring it back. What you think," he said thoughtfully, "about 40 minutes?"

"Seriously?" Will asked, gaping in horror.

Fedora Guy continued to the door, chuckling softly to himself, but Tyson stood, all traces of amusement gone as he stared them down.

"Don't make me come back for him," Mike Tyson warned.

They stiffened and were silent as he turned away, and didn't dare to breathe until the door had shut behind him and they were left alone in the trashed hotel room, with an unconscious Alan and Mike Tyson's tiger in the bathroom.

"That was Mike Tyson," Stu whispered to Phil.

"Yeah, no shit that was Mike Tyson."

"I'm just saying," Stu grinned, "he's still got it."

"Yeah," Will said, staring intensely at the jacket in her hands, "and he almost killed Alan." She glanced up to glare at Stu, "Focus, dude—"

Behind her, Alan let out a pained groan. The men shot into action, hurrying to the man's side as he slowly returned to consciousness. Will stood and watched them for a moment as they fussed over the man, who was to blame for all of this bullshit, and then she looked back down at the jacket in her hands.

"Alan," She heard Phil cry. "Bud, are you okay?"

"Oh my god," Stu winced, seeing the blossoming bruise on Alan's cheek.

"Shit! Fuck, where'd he get him? Hey," Phil said, clicking his fingers. When Alan still failed to respond, Phil glanced over his shoulder to see Will shuffle over to the grey couch and slowly ease herself onto it. "Hey, Will, a little help here?"

She ignored him, turning the jacket over in her hands, barely stopping herself from bringing it to her nose to smell her brother's cologne. Her heart ached with pain and fear as she rifled through the pockets, finding his key-card and wallet, as promised.

Resting the jacket on her lap, she flicked open the wallet, ignoring the sounds of Stu and Phil helping Alan to a sitting position, and her teeth clenched together as she saw her brother's face smiling up at her, first from his license, and then from a picture taken a few years ago, when he and Tracy had gone to Disney World together, and had worn those stupid Mickey Mouse hats and had ice-cream and gotten sick on the rides and had been so incredibly happy.

She started to flick the middle section of the brown leather wallet over to see the other side, but stopped short when she spied the edge of the picture. So familiar, and so very painful. She shut the wallet. Holding it tight, she drew in a slow, shaky breath. _I can't lose you, too. I can't._

With a bracing breath, Will folded the jacket and placed it and the wallet beside her on the sofa and then stood and went to help Stu and Phil with Alan.

/

The plan was to use the left-over roofies to drug the tiger.

In order to give the tiger the roofies, they would put the pills in a big, juicy raw piece of steak and then throw it in for the tiger to (hopefully) devour. And then they would wait for the cat to pass out and then they would borrow a luggage cart, put the tiger on it, ride the elevator down, put the tiger in the back of the Mercedes and then calmly and quietly drive to Mike Tyson's place as if there wasn't a four-hundred-pound jungle cat unconscious on the back seat.

Great plan.

They had ordered room-service, who had been incredibly confused but obliging to bring them a single large, raw steak, and it now sat on a fancy round, red table, beneath a silver serving cloche, beside utensils and glasses of ice and even salt and pepper shakers. Alan had retrieved his bag of roofies. All was set.

Then they sat and argued about who the unlucky idiot was that had to give it to the tiger.

After a few minutes, an irritated, impatient Will suggested they draw straws. Stu amended that, saying a game of Rock, Paper, Scissors would decide. So they played. And Stu lost.

And he was not happy about it.

"This does not seem fair."

"It's Rock, Paper, Scissors," Phil said, from where he leant over the back of an intact dining chair. "There's nothing more fair."

Stu shook his head, looking tense on his perch upon the dining table, "Alan should do it."

"Alan took a punch from _Mike Tyson_," Phil said, as Alan pulled out a handful of blue pills and pressed them deep into the steak. His black eye was developing beautifully. "Come on. For Doug."

Alan put aside the bag and picked up the pepper shaker. Will, who stood to the side, leaning against the wall, arms crossed, cocked a brow.

"Why are you peppering the steak?" Stu asked, incredulously. "You don't know if tigers like pepper."

"Tigers love pepper," Alan told him without missing a beat. "They hate cinnamon."

"Just like untamed raccoons don't take to kerosene," she said, dryly. Alan looked at her seriously, and nodded. She rolled her eyes.

"Phil, just do it," Stu said. "You should do it."

"I would, but you lost," Phil shrugged, not sounding nearly sympathetic enough." It wouldn't be right."

"Okay," Alan said, picking up the steak and offering it to Stu, who crossed his arms tightly over his chest, shaking his head. "I jammed five roofies in there. Just go in there and throw it in to him."

"Make sure he eats the whole thing," Phil said.

Eyes closed, Stu continued to shake his head, looking pained and afraid, "_Phil—"_

Will waited a moment, and then inhaled sharply as her friend continued to resist, stepping forward to snatch the steak from Alan's outstretched hand. "Ah, for fucks sake," she muttered, turning toward the door, ignoring the way Phil's eyes went wide.

"Wait, Will! No!" She heard him trip over his chair in his haste to rush forward and stop her, but she didn't break stride.

Kicking aside the bedding where she had awoken this very morning – which now seemed to have been years ago –, she pushed down on the handle of the bathroom door and slowly but smoothly pushed it open. A quick breath and then she was inside.

A glance around the corner, taking in the toilet, and then the sink, and then the bath, and then the orange and black fur of a real-life tiger, which lay on the white tiles in the middle of the bathroom, and raised its head to blink lazily at her with enormous, shining yellow eyes.

For a moment, Will froze, a deer in the headlights of this apex predator. Then it chuffed at her. She blinked, averting her eyes, step one in cat etiquette. A quick inhale, her heart fluttering, and then she threw the steak, watching it land just in front of the tiger's enormous paws. She waited until it bent its head and sniffed at the offering, and then opened its mouth to begin to eat. Will made her quick retreat.

Firmly closing the bathroom door, she drew in a deep breath as she turned to the others, "There," she said, nodding and clearing her throat. "Done."

Phil was on her in a heartbeat, taking her by the arm and tugging her quickly away from the bathroom door, as if afraid she were going to run back in there and try and snuggle up with the beast. Grip tight on her arm, he stared down at her with an expression that could only be muted fury as he growled lowly, "I cannot believe you just did that."

Stu scoffed sarcastically at him, still sitting on the table, "Oh, so it's okay for me to go in there and feed a hungry tiger, but not Will?"

Phil's jaw tightened, his face hardening as he glowered at his friend. "It's _different."_

She stared long and hard at Phil as he held her tightly to him, not with enough force to bruise, but to keep her close. Will remembered back at Jade's apartment, how he had pressed her into the couch, leaning over her to keep himself between her and the gun in Officer Franklin's hands. She remembered how he had waited for her at the top of the ladder, before the shots, before the roofies, before all of this, and how he had caught her when she inevitably tripped on the awkward top rung, holding her close, and safe.

Though she didn't want to see it, and though he would probably never admit it, she knew that she had scared him. She had just walked into a bathroom, holding a piece of meat, and delivered it to a hungry, possibly angry tiger. Phil had been scared. And she was just realising that she should have been scared too. But Phil had said, _For Doug. _And so she had done it. Because it was just another step in the road to finding her brother.

"It's _done,"_ she told the angry man who held her close to his side and didn't appear intent to let go. He scowled at her, but when she stared back with eyes calm and steady, his ire cooled.

He shook his head, but didn't say anymore. He slid his hand across her back to her opposite shoulder, where he took hold and pulled her into him. Will sighed tiredly and let him, letting her head fall into the hollow of his shoulder, eyeing the dark blood on his collar. She didn't move her hands to hold him, because she didn't know what would happen if she did. So, she simply let him hold her, and was content.

"Now what?" Stu huffed, pointedly ignoring their too-intimate embrace and absentmindedly fingering the hole left by his missing tooth.

Alan scratched his stomach, and gave a heavy sigh. "We wait."

/

Will sat on the bench in the bathroom of her and Stu's room and let out a long, exhausted sigh.

She had taken ice from one of the glasses, wrapped it in a facecloth and now held it to her lower back, where her skin felt sore and inflamed and she could only hope that wherever she had got the tattoo done had sterilised their tools. Getting an infection on top of all of this would be just her luck.

Feeling fresher and calmer now that she had washed her face and had cooled in the air-conditioned suite, she let herself feel the first pangs of shame and embarrassment at her earlier outburst. No one could blame her for being upset, but that didn't make it any easier to get the memory of Alan's scared and sad eyes out of her head.

Lost in her tired thoughts, she jumped at the gentle knock on the frame of the open door. Hurriedly pulling down her jumper, she looked to see Phil – of course it was Phil – step into the bathroom.

"Will?"

She cleared her throat, bringing the icepack around and fingering it uncomfortably as he approached. "What's up?"

"Is that for your tattoo?" Phil asked, nodding to the icepack. Then his eyes lit up as she awkwardly tugged her shirt lower. "Wait, it's on your lower back?" A mischievous, delighted grin stretched across his face as he stepped forward, standing almost in the space between her knees.

She flushed, closing her legs and scooting further back on the bench, her shoulders touching the mirror. "Phil..."

He reached toward her, trying to lean around as she lent away. "You got a tramp stamp? That's terrible," he grinned. "Let me see."

"No way," she snapped, slapping his hands away. "Absolutely not."

He huffed stubbornly, "Why not?"

"Because I said no," she said, her face serious.

With a disappointed sigh, he backed off, his eyes still sparkling as he held up his hands in defeat. "Fine. Fine."

They were quiet for a moment, and Phil turned to lean against the sink, crossing his arms over his chest and scratching the scruff on his jaw thoughtfully as she played with the icepack.

"How's Alan?" she asked, breaking the silence.

"Alan?" he frowned with a small, confused shrug. "Alan's fine."

"Really?"

"Yeah," he nodded, looking at her, "why wouldn't he be?"

"Well, I yelled at him..." she said with a guilty shuffle.

Phil snorted. "Ah, he deserved it. And you were right, he's totally at fault here." He sniffed unhappily. "We wouldn't be in this mess if he hadn't slipped those roofies into that Jager last night."

She nodded but felt no better. "Still, I probably shouldn't have been so rough on him."

He gave a chuckle, not sounding upset. "I thought you were gonna kill him."

"I wanted to," she scowled at the ground.

His eyes were hot on her face as he stared steadily for a long while, before he turned his body toward her, his voice gentle. "Will, you gotta know that we will find Doug."

"I know we will," she said without hesitation, her eyes raising to meet his with a determined fire. Then she sighed, the flame cooling as she returned to frowning at the dark tiles. "I just wanna know that he's okay now."

Fine leather shoes moved to stand before her, and her frown deepened as she felt his large hands envelope her shoulders, squeezing gently. "I'm sure he's fine," he murmured, raising a hand to her cheek to lift her face to him.

She shrugged out of his hold, once again slapping his hands away from her, "Don't."

Phil blinked, his eyes wide and looking honestly bewildered. "What?"

"You keep—" she gestured wildly a moment, wishing that he would just step away so she wouldn't have to smell his freshly washed skin and newly applied cologne. "You're very touchy," she complained.

"You don't like it?" he asked, his face falling.

"No," she shook her head, trying to avoid his confused blue eyes, stammering as she tried not to make a fool of herself yet again. She squeezed her eyes shut as she forced out, "I—I know you said all those things..."

"Things?"

"You know," she waved a hand, trying to seem dismissive and unaffected, "About you... caring or whatever. But it's not—"

"I do care about you," Phil asserted, his voice forceful and his eyes burning into her. "I care a lot. You know that," he chuckled.

Her hands shook in her lap as she inhaled deeply, feeling the air thick in her lungs as she tried to articulate her thoughts, desperate for him to give her a straight answer but unable to be sure whether said answer would really be truthful. And how could she know? How much did she trust him? How could she?

"I just don't... get it," she said. "Where it's all coming from. It's been years since you've been like this. And I don't understand—"

"Will—" He laid a hand on her arm and she shrugged him off.

"I mean, you _left," _she laughed dryly, her eyes hard."You broke up with me and that was it. And then we didn't see each other for six years and now all of the sudden you're all affectionate and huggy and you keep saying how much you _care _about me and I just don't _get it."_

His face was pained as he sighed, running a hand through his thick hair. "I know I hurt you," he said with a desperate shake of his head, "but you gotta believe me—"

"I mean, why now?" she wondered aloud, interrupting him with hardly a notice. "You had six years to do this," her hands gestured between them, "to tell me that it was all a mistake; that you were sorry, and you _didn't._"

"I know!" he cried, stepping into her, her knees knocked aside as he planted his hands on either side of her hips. His shoulders were hunched, his head hanging low as she shrunk beneath him, his warmth between her legs, over her chest, his scent all around. Eyes wide, she could hardly breathe herself as she felt his heated exhale on her neck, sending tingles of heat all over.

"Will," he whispered, the deep reverberations shuddering through his chest and settling within hers. "_I know._ I fucked up. I fucked up big time. I don't..." A heavy sigh escaped him, and his body settled more relaxedly onto hers as he spoke into her shoulder, saying things she wasn't sure he could if he were meeting her eyes. He hid against her and told her things that made her only angry, and yet finally allowed her to understand.

"Fuck," he breathed. "I don't even know what happened. It was good. We were so good. We were young, we were having fun. We were so wrapped up in each other. And there was the guys and all the parties, and those quiet nights in and the big nights out, and then one day I just..." He exhaled softly, and she wondered if he realised how he was pressed against her, or if she were there at all. His words swam in her mind, a whirlpool of confusion and impossible and hope and _he's so big and warm_.

"I woke up and I looked at you and I knew that as long as I got to wake up every day for the rest of my life with you next to me, life would be good. You were all that I wanted," he told her, swallowing hard. "And that scared the hell out of me. So I freaked. And I left. I pushed you away because I was scared of how much I loved you." He nuzzled her neck, his arms tightening around her, his hips settling against hers. "How much I still love you."

"Phil—" she breathed, hands clutching his shoulders. Did she want to push him away or pull him closer? Her mind was filled with white light as his hands moved from the bench to her hips, and then slipped beneath the layer of wool and cotton to press against the skin of her back, sliding up over the irritated spot where his name was marked into her skin, up, up, up, pulling her tighter and tighter against him...

"I wasn't ready," he murmured as she was raised toward him, their bodies sliding together. "I wasn't ready for you. I wasn't ready for us." His fingers met the clasp of her bra and hesitated, playing at the edge of the elastic. "It took a few days waking up without you for me to realise how badly I had fucked up. But by the time I figured all this out, Doug got the call about your parents..." He sighed, shaking his head and burying his face in her shoulder. "And it all went to hell. I should have been there for you then. You needed help. You needed support from the people who care about you, and everyone was there for you. And I should have just manned up and—"

His lips became distracted as they pressed against the soft skin of her neck, and she couldn't help the small sigh which escaped her at the gentle kiss, nor could she help the way her legs wound about his and tightened, pressing their hips all the firmer together and delighting in the low groan which rumbled within his chest. He lifted his mouth from her throat, his breath catching and his heart fluttering against her chest.

"You probably don't want to hear all this what with everything going on, but I screwed up once because I wasn't open and honest with you and I don't want that to happen again," he said quickly, his fingers sliding beneath her bra strap, circling the rise of her vertebrae, playing with the clasp, but not moving to unlatch it. "You just gotta know where I'm coming from," he said. Her hips moved against his and he inhaled sharply as her nails dug into the material of his shirt.

Panting against her, he swallowed hard, the movement audible in her ear as he removed all distance between them. "And you don't have to say anything right now..." he shuddered against her as their bodies entwined fully, each part of her pressed against him, separated by only a thin layer of clothing. "Though it'd be great if you would say something," he said, hardly knowing what he was saying as her hips rolled against his, causing his voice to hitch and his eyes to roll behind their lids as she clung to him, "just so I can kinda get a feeling of where you're at, and... and what you're thinking."

At that, Will stilled her steadily increasing movements, the tautness in her muscles relaxing inch by inch until she was putty in his hold. Her hold on him softened into an embrace of more innocent intention and he sensed it, his fingers moving from her bra strap but not removing an inch of himself from her warmth. Phil Wenneck nuzzled against her neck and she rested her face against his solid shoulder, breathing him in, her heart pounding against his, the napkin filled with ice slowly melting against her leg.

"I don't know what I'm thinking," she whispered as she closed her eyes and revelled in everything that he was and everything he made her feel. Her heart beat to the echo of his words in her head as her heart soared, her mind tumbled and she felt herself wavering at the edge of a cliff, something old and young and bright urging her over the edge while something new and scared and wary held her back.

They held each other until they heard Stu return with the luggage cart, and Alan yell in victory and knew it was time to let go. As Phil pulled away, he was slow to release her, slower to look at her face, and even slower to end the kiss he stole before she could speak again.

His lips were soft and his stubble was coarse and Will didn't know whether she wanted to wind her fingers through his hair, press herself against him and take all that he offered with an eagerness she had not felt since years past; or to push him away, curl into a ball and sob at the grief and the heartache and the betrayal that he had heaped upon her then, and would possibly press upon her once more.

In her confusion and indecision and cautious regard she remained passive to his attentions once more, trapped between two extremes and so choosing to take the most neutral, least satisfying path of inaction.

Phil released her with a smile and a sparkle of his eyes, and she was astonished at his surety, at his beauty and at all that made Phil Wenneck he.

And as he led her, weak-kneed and dazed, back into the chaos that was their current situation, Will teetered at the edge of the precipice and wondered if he were strong enough and true enough to push her off, or if she were brave enough or stupid enough to take that leap.

/

"By the way," Stu said conversationally, "we're all gonna die."

Will trotted nervously after Stu and Alan as they pushed the luggage cart down the hall, eyeing the unconscious form of the tiger lying beneath a white sheet with disbelief and dread.

"I can't believe we're doing this," she muttered to herself, in the same instance Alan let the heavy cart drift too close to the wall and they all winced as they heard the thud of the tiger's face hitting the wall.

"Oh, god," Phil moaned, looking down the corridor.

Stu stopped to glower at Alan in disgust. "Watch it!" he hissed at the man. "His _nose_! That's his nose!"

Alan shrugged helplessly and Stu shook his head as they continued toward the elevator. Will hurried ahead of them to press the down button multiple times, eyes wide and bouncing on her heels as she shifted nervously, looking about as the others caught up. The elevator dinged and the doors opened to reveal an empty space, to which they all regarded with relief.

Phil held an arm across the door, keeping it open as Stu and Alan pushed the cart inside, and then they all settled within. Stu pressed the button for the ground floor, Alan set himself up against the back wall, a hand over his face, rubbing his welt. Phil tugged at Will until she was beside him, but placed one hand on the cart, helping Stu hold it steady, while the other rested on the wall beside her head. The doors closed, the awkward elevator music played, and they descended, twitching nervously.

"Please don't stop," Stu whispered as they watched the light over the door light up floor after floor in decreasing numerical order. "Please don't stop. Please don't—" his prayers were cut off by the elevator's mocking ding. "Goddamn it," he cursed.

"Shit," Phil hissed. Will pressed herself into his side.

"Stay calm," she soothed her friends in a low voice as the doors opened.

A small child in a blue shirt rushed inside, followed immediately by a man, face flushed with exertion, "I'm gonna beat you!" he laughed as the young boy put up his hands and crowed in victory. His father rubbed his dark hair, grinning paternally beneath his moustache. "Oh, he won again," he told his wife and daughter, who entered a moment after, smiling at him fondly. Will eyed them with vague distaste. One perfect all-American family.

She glanced at Phil before she could stop herself, and flushed at the realisation of it. But Phil was antsy and distracted and didn't notice her. The air was tense as her friends stared straight ahead, waiting in tense impatience for the elevator to reach the ground floor.

The father eyed Alan, who shifted over to stand at the back of the cart, and he pulled his son close, holding the boy's shoulders while looking them over. "Hey, fellas," he greeted. "Rough night?"

No one made eye contact, and when the wife smiled at Will, she shrunk back against Phil, averting her gaze.

"Mm-hmm," Stu nodded shortly.

"Katie, sweetie," the wife said, pulling her daughter against her side, eyeing Stu warily. "Stay close to Mama."

"What's this?" the boy asked, slipping out of his father's grasp to reach toward the white sheet.

All four jerked in alarm, but Alan was quick to intercept him. "Whoa, whoa, whoa," he glowered, grabbing the boy's arm and pushing him back toward his family.

"Take it easy, little man," Phil warned, darkly. "You don't wanna be touching that."

"No, partner," the father agreed, leaning down to gently chastise his son, "that's not your property." The boy nodded, the father straightened, and all returned to staring straight ahead, the only sound in the elevator being the aggravated breaths of its occupants and the tinny music from above.

"So, what do you guys got under there?" the father asked.

Will near felt her friends become immediately defensive, and actually felt Phil tense at her side. Stu's knuckle's whitened on the cart. Phil inhaled sharply. "Just a whole bunch of 'mind your own business'," he said, not looking at the man.

Will pressed against his side, glancing awkwardly at the wide-eyed daughter as Stu looked over his shoulder to look at his aggravated friend. "Easy, Phil."

"He's correct," the moustachioed father nodded. "My fault."

Stu stared dryly at Phil. "You okay?"

"What—Can't we just ride an elevator?" Phil hissed, throwing up his hands. Will narrowly avoided getting an elbow to the head and ducked out of the way as Phil glanced at her and returned his hands to their previous positions, shaking his head incredulously. "Why, is this Jeopardy? What the fuck is this bullshit?"

"Phil," Will warned, quietly. She met Stu's tight lipped look with an irritated shrug. So much for playing it cool.

The wife huffed, and the father cleared his throat, turning to fix Phil with a hard stare. "Please. With the language."

Stu turned to send a mildly apologetic look his way as Will turned to give the stubbornly unrepentant Phil a look of her own, to which he just raised his chin and sniffed proudly. Will rolled her eyes.

"Yes," Alan said, nodding seriously. "I fully agree."

"Oh," the man said, surprised.

The rest of the elevator ride was mercifully silent.

/

They managed to get the unconscious tiger into the back seat of the Mercedes without any witnesses. Squeezing four adults into the front seat made for two was a much harder task, but they managed with Will sitting on Stu's lap and Alan squished tightly against passenger door. Phil leaned over the steering wheel, blinking at the road through red and tired eyes as Will used the directions on her phone to guide them toward Mike Tyson's house, which she had to hunt down the address of.

Stu turned on the radio and leaned back in the seat a moment, before shooting forward again as the sleeping tiger in the backseat made a sound in its sleep. Will rubbed at her concealer-free neck, no longer too worried about anyone mentioning the marks, and grunted as Stu shifted uncomfortably.

Squinting at the bright screen of her phone, she listened to the shitty music on the radio, tried her best not to crush her friend beneath her and tried to keep on top of the directions, all the while doing all she could to ignore the fact there was a tiger in the back of the car. Phil had wound his window down, but the air blowing in wasn't much cooler than the air inside.

They drove for a good ten minutes before Alan felt the need to speak.

"Hey, guys, when's the next Halley's Comet?"

Will glanced at the man, and then returned her attention to her phone. Behind her, Stu fixed the patiently waiting Alan with a cold stare.

"Who cares, man?" Phil sighed.

"Do you know, Will?" She didn't look at him. "How 'bout you, Stu?"

"I don't think it's for, like, another 60 years or something," Stu said in a voice gravelly with fatigue.

"But it's not tonight, right?" Alan checked.

"No," Stu shook his head. "I don't think so."

"But you don't know for sure?"

Phil gave an irritated sigh, turning to glare sharply at Stu who shook his head helplessly. Will kept her eyes on the road, idly tapping the screen of her phone.

"No," Stu huffed.

"I got this cousin, Marcus, who saw one and he said it blew his mind and I wanna make sure I never, ever miss out on a Halley's Comet," Alan said in one breath, and Will rolled her eyes, glancing up at the rear-view mirror. "So, if you guys know if there's gonna be one—"

There was a flash of orange and black in the mirror and Will had time only to take a sharp breath before the car was filled with the tired, disoriented and angry growl of the now-awake tiger. Chaos erupted in the front seat as the tiger struggled to its feet, falling about the car, its claws tearing through leather like butter as it attempted to keep its balance in the unsteady vehicle. Will was near about thrown through the windscreen as Stu shot forward, screaming into her ear. Phil hugged the wheel, shrieking and looking over his shoulder at the awakening beast.

"Oh fuck!"

"He's awake!"

Phil jerked on the wheel, and the car swerved from one side of the road to the other, the dark sky disappearing as they entered a tunnel. At the sharp motions of the vehicle, the tiger reached out, its green eyes wide in as deep a panic as the four humans in the front, and in its attempt to steady itself its claws dug into the driver's seat, swiping across Phil's shoulder in the same motion, tearing through his shirt and flesh in one clean slash.

Phil hollered in pain, Will screamed, and they all yelped as the car struck the bus in the lane beside them. The Mercedes bounced off with a crunch and drove several more meters before the injured Phil slammed his foot on the brakes, both doors were kicked open and they all threw themselves out of the car, rolling across the road and stumbling away, narrowly avoiding being hit by oncoming traffic. Will kicked the door shut and was dragged to her feet by a panicking Stu.

"Oh my god!"

"Fuck!"

"Stu!" Phil screamed, clutching his neck and shoulder, red seeping across the blue of his shirt. "Stu, it got me! Stu!"

Steadying herself, staring in horror at the tiger which had managed to right itself and get busy destroying the interior of the Mercedes, hissing and snarling at them all the while through the open driver's window, Will turned to Phil and Stu. Alan danced in terror nearby, whimpering to himself.

"You got clawed!" Stu cried, looking at the bloody claw-marks on his friend. "You're bleeding!"

"Oh fuck!" Phil shouted, trying to wipe away the steady flow of red, completely in shock. "Fuck!"

"He's gonna die!" Alan shrieked, pulling at his hair.

"Phil, let me look!" Will demanded, swatting his hands, and Stu's away so that she could see the damage. Three long but superficial claw-marks glared up at her, stretching from the curve of Phil's neck to his shoulder, weeping blood.

"Oh!" Stu gagged.

"I'm panicking!" Alan said, hyperventilating as he watched the tiger tear the leather seats to shreds.

"Aah!" Phil cried as Will prodded at the edge of the wound.

"Oh my god," Stu groaned, bending over and resting his hands on his knees.

"You're gonna be okay," Will told Phil, raising a hand to his cheek to lift his head and meet his eyes, which showed too much white. "It's not that bad. You're okay."

She nodded assuringly at him until he nodded with her, blinking and panting, but regaining control of himself. Beside them, the other two were descending from their adrenaline rush. Alan was pale, his hands threaded upon his head as he watched the tiger destroy his dad's car, while Stu remained bent over, looking like he was about to pass out.

"Okay," Phil puffed, squeezing his eyes shut and nodding to himself. When he opened them again, the blue was bright with adrenaline, but clear of panic and fear. "Okay," he said, grimacing at the tiger. "What the hell do we do now?"

/

"I think I'm gonna die," Will groaned, a half-hour later.

"We're almost there," Phil panted encouragingly at her side. "Just a little bit further."

"Of course he has to live on the biggest goddamn hill..." Stu grumbled, grunting and sweating to Will's right.

"It's not too far now," Phil asserted. "Keep pushing."

Their hands pressed against the curve of the Mercedes' trunk, the three pushed forcefully against the car in which an angry and frightened tiger was trapped; making slow progress up the road, at the end of which Mike Tyson apparently lived. Their tired and bruised muscles ached as sweat poured off them, their clothes sticking wetly to their skin as their shoes scuffed against the road and their hands slipped across the smooth metal of the car.

They heard the tiger make a tired sound of discontent, or perhaps curiousity, and heard Alan, who had been the very sore loser of their deciding game of rock-paper-scissors, yelp in fright. They looked up as the car started to roll to one side, and saw the man dancing in fear alongside the vehicle, his eyes wide as he whimpered and panted.

"I can't do it!" he blubbered, shaking his hands. "I can't do it!"

Phil was evidently not in the mood for this. "Get your fucking hand back in there and steer the car!" he hissed to the frightened man.

"I'm too nervous!" Alan whined. "I'm too nervous!"

"Alan," Stu said in the same tone Phil had used with her only moments before, "We need you, buddy. This is your time to shine, okay?"

This vote of confidence was apparently enough for Alan because he nodded and returned to his post at the front window. "Okay, yeah," he said, winding his hand through the window and taking command of the wheel. Glancing back at the tiger, he gave a whimper, "Daddy's gonna kill me."

"That's it," Stu called approvingly.

"That's good," Phil huffed. "Keep it straight."

Shaking sweat from her eyes, Will growled under her breath and kept pushing.

/

"The gates have boxing gloves on them. Look at that."

"Holy shit. That's so lame."

"I know. I love it."

"Guys."

Phil gave the impressed Stu and the pained Will an exasperated look as he pushed the intercom by the gate and waited for an answer. They fell quiet, peering through the tall, spiked gates which marked the entrance to Mike Tyson's estate.

"What?" a static voice blurted through the little box after a moment. Alan looked at it with interest.

"It's Phil Wenneck. We have Mr. Tyson's tiger."

"Alright."

There was a beep, a swell of electricity, and the gates began to swing open. The four glanced at one another and then returned to their positions, pushing the Mercedes along the smooth white driveway, past plush green grass and impeccable gardens and not one but two very expensive cars.

With much swearing, they managed to pull the car up to the front of the house, where they were quick to abandon it, wiping their hands of the tiger as they walked up the steps of the enormous white manor and rang the doorbell.

As they waited, covered in blood and dirt and gross amounts of sweat, Will took in the tall, thin windows, the fine architecture and the absolute wealth which dripped off every aspect of this place and wondered if they would even be allowed in. But surely a man who earned his fortune through just as much, if not more, blood and sweat wouldn't mind? She had to count on it. Because he was their only possible lead to finding Doug.

The door swung open to reveal Fedora Guy, who they had met in their suite at Caesar's. The large, dark man fixed them with an impatient look and snapped, "You're late."

There was a chorus of exhausted, offended huffs.

"Whatever, man," Phil said. "We had to push it the last mile."

Fedora Guy rolled his eyes, stepping aside and holding the door open for them to pass through. "Come on in," he grunted. "Mike's got something he wants to show you."

Will sighed in relief and followed Alan and Stu into the grand open foyer of the Tyson estate. Two winding staircases arched up to the second level on either side of the curved room. Her boots tapped on the smooth marble floors which shone in the light of the enormous chandelier which hung prominently above. Large vases filled with expensive orchids stood around the room, and a grand piano sat snugly in the very centre, gleaming in the light. They were struck by the freezing air in the manor, a stark contrast to the heat outside.

Phil's hand brushed against her lower back as he waited for her to step through the door before him, but he paused before entering, turning to glare at the complaining tiger in their Mercedes. Moving into the house, he looked at Fedora Guy, gesturing over his shoulder as he said,

"That thing's out of control, man. Seriously, you gotta put it down."

Fedora Guy looked between him and the tiger waiting outside, chuckled and then closed the door behind them.

They were led into a dimly lit room which boasted a pool table, a large leather couch and one of the biggest home entertainment systems Will had ever seen. Mike Tyson greeted them from the couch and gestured for them to sit down.

"You bring my tiger back?" he asked as they hesitantly settled down around him, their shoes sinking into the plush rug which had been placed upon the dark floorboards while their asses sank into the soft leather.

"Yep," Stu nodded. "He is totally safe, and waiting for you in the car."

"Good. Good." He nodded to Fedora Guy, who whipped out his phone and quietly arranged for the tiger's removal. Mike Tyson sighed, glancing at the straight-backed Alan, the warily smiling Stu, the bright-eyed Phil and the wide-eyed Will, who sat on the edge of the seat, one knee bouncing anxiously as she waited to hear what he knew.

"When we got back," Mike Tyson said, patting a scrawny little white dog which sat perched on his lap, "we took a look at the security cameras."

"Great," Phil said, glancing over his shoulder as Fedora Guy pointed a remote at the large screen before them. They shifted with nervous excitement as the screen lit up, and froze when the picture, in perfect black and white, showed five people stumbling across a garden, falling over each other and laughing with bottles of beer in their hands. And one of those people was Doug Billings.

Will's entire body tensed at the sight of her brother, alive and well on the video, her breath catching in her throat as overwhelming relief flooded through her. Her eyes were fixed to the screen as she heard Stu and Phil cry out in excitement.

"Oh, it's Doug!" Stu laughed.

"Oh, thank god he's alive," Phil sighed, falling back against the couch, weak with relief.

"That's our buddy," Stu smiled at Tyson. "That's who we've been missing. This is great."

"Yes!" Phil grinned, sitting forward happily.

"We're all best friends," Alan said.

"Why don't you just pay attention?" Tyson bit out. "I don't have all night."

"Yeah, of course," Phil nodded, returning his attention to the screen. "Of course."

The video switched to a view of an irregular shaped swimming pool, lined with rocks and tropical-looking plants, with the glowing light of a spa in the far corner. Alan's high-pitched giggle was heard and then he stepped into view, balancing on one of the rocks.

"What are you doing?" a voice hissed from out of frame.

"Hey, guys," TV Alan giggled as the angle switched to show the full view of the pool, with Alan standing on a rock by a small water feature which bubbled into the pool, and Will, Doug, Stu, Phil and the tiger standing on the opposite side, watching Alan as he unzipped his pants. "Check it out. Watch this."

Behind her, Alan chuckled excitedly. "That's me. I'm on TV. I've never been on TV before."

All amusement faded at once as TV Alan proceeded to whip out his junk and unload about a gallon of urine into Mike Tyson's pool.

"What are you doing, man?" TV Doug cackled.

Will winced, coughing uncomfortably and turning away from the screen to glance awkwardly around. Stu covered his mouth with his hands as Alan squinted at the screen beside him, oblivious to Tyson glaring at him from his other side.

"Really?" Phil sighed, shaking his head in disgust. "Really, Alan?"

On the screen, the four observers laughed uncontrollably as Alan continued to urinate into the glowing waters. "You got a fire hose, man?" TV Doug called out, falling against a gasping Will.

Alan finally noticed Mike Tyson's heated stare and shifted in his seat. "Yeah, I was, uh..."

The camera angle focussed solely on the wildly cackling TV Alan. "You're gonna overflow the pool, man," TV Stu's voice warbled. Beside her, Stu winced, his eyes wide as he glanced around at the disgusted Tyson and the awkward Alan.

"Maybe I—should I wait outside?" Alan asked.

"I think that's a good idea, Alan," Tyson nodded.

Alan shot to his feet, nearly knocking over the glass table in his haste to escape the vicinity, "Yeah."

Fedora Guy watched him carefully as he left, calling after him in warning, "Don't touch anything out there, either."

"You know what?" Stu spluttered quietly as Alan disappeared from sight. "He's not our good fr—We don't know him that well."

Tyson just looked at him. Stu shrivelled, and attention returned to the screen. The five drunken idiots of yesterday past stumbled down the white driveway toward the gates, Phil leading the way with one arm draped loosely around Will's shoulders, while the other hand gripped the tiger's leash.

"Come on," TV Stu giggled amongst the chorus of hushes and drunken chuckles. "Come on, come on!"

The angle changed once again, and Will was quite astonished that he had so much security. She couldn't remember seeing any cameras on the way in. This particular camera was angled toward the front gates, where the stolen police car sat waiting on the other side, lights flashing as they approached.

"By the way, man," Tyson piped up, "where you get that cop car from?"

Stu didn't miss a beat, "We, uh, stole it, from these dumb-ass cops."

"Nice!" Mike Tyson grinned, and at the sight, Stu and Phil laughed in the most dude-bro way Will had ever seen. A strained smile set upon her face as she watched Tyson raise his hand toward Stu. "High five that one." Stu high-fived him enthusiastically, and Phil did the same, and Will sat there wanting it to be over. "Yeah," Tyson laughed. "That's nice."

Will watched the angle change to the front of the open gates, where Phil was herding the tiger into the back of the cop car.

"You know," a now more relaxed Phil said to Tyson, "I just have to say I have never seen a more beautiful, elegant, just regal creature—"'

He was cut off by a strangled noise from Will across the couch, and his smile died as on-screen, drunk and stupid TV Phil gripped the tiger's hips and began to make thrusting motions, pretending to hump the tiger from behind. Will pressed her hands against her mouth, eyes wide.

"Check it out," TV Phil cried. "Stu. Stu! Fuck this tiger!"

"Oh my god," Stu said, even as TV Stu actually fell over from laughing. "That's awful."

"Oh, man," Tyson shook his head, turning to stare with incredulous disgust at Phil. "Who does shit like that, man?"

"Someone who has a lot of issues, obviously," Phil said, glancing awkwardly between Stu and Will, who cringed. "I'm a sick man."

They all winced as on-screen, Alan projectile vomited all over the back of the police car, stumbling around weakly as Stu nearly hacked up a lung, still rolling on the ground, Phil slammed the door behind the now-trapped tiger and Doug tried unsuccessfully to give Will a piggy-back ride.

The screen went black.

Will sat back, blinking in shock. "Oh my god," she breathed. Beside her, Stu nodded in agreement.

"That's all we got," Fedora Guy declared. Phil wiped his hands over his face as they all took a moment to register what they had seen.

Stu released a long breath, clapping his hands. "This was hugely helpful," he said. "Really. Because now we know that our buddy Doug was with us at 3:30, totally alive." Will and Phil nodded in agreement.

"Thanks again, champ," Phil smiled. "And, uh, again," he drew in a breath, glancing at Stu and Will, as he made the most sincere apology she had ever heard, "we are _so_ sorry we stole your tiger."

"Don't worry about it, man," Mike Tyson said, giving his little dog a scratch behind the ears and then shooting them an actual smile. "Like you said, we all do dumb shit when we're fucked up."

And because they were fan-boy idiots, Stu and Phil cracked up like it was the funniest thing they had ever heard. Movement caught her eye and Will watched Alan wander confusedly through the house, looking completely lost. Will sighed tiredly.

"I told you he'd get it," Stu said.

"I did say that," Phil grinned.

Not long after, they were herded out of the manor with hardly a farewell. They made their way to the Mercedes which was now thankfully completely tiger-free. Clambering inside, all carefully avoided mentioning that the inside was now completely shredded, and Stu was quick to claim front seat after a small but smelly wet patch was found in the back.

Alan apparently didn't mind all that much that he ended up sitting pretty much in tiger urine, and after a few adjustments of torn leather and the winding down of all windows, Stu eased them down Mike Tyson's driveway, out the boxing-glove adorned gates and back on the road once again.


	11. Advent of Honesty

"You know," Stu commented conversationally a little while later, "everyone says Mike Tyson is such a badass, but I think he's kind of a sweetheart."

"Look out, Melissa," Will chuckled at his back, leaning an elbow on the rolled-up window sill and resting her head on her hand. "Stu's got a man crush." Stu stared dryly at her through the rear-view mirror, amusement in his eyes.

"I think he's mean," Alan huffed to Will's right.

Phil, who had sat quietly in the passenger seat, staring thoughtfully at the road, sat up. "Alright," he declared. "I think it's officially time we call Tracy."

"Hallelujah!" Stu said, throwing up his hands and nodding approvingly at his thoughtful friend. "Finally, Phil says something that makes sense."

In back, Will cringed, imagining the unpleasant conversation and immediately deciding that she was _not _going to be the one to tell the bride that they had lost her groom.

"I mean, we don't have much of a choice," Phil shrugged, crossing his arms. "And maybe she's heard from Doug."

"That's what I've been saying this whole time," Stu said.

"Have not," Will drawled, ignoring the look he sent her. "You know," she called to Phil, "if we call her now, she'll know you lied. And she won't be happy about it."

He sighed heavily, sinking down in his seat as he threw up his hands. "We gotta do it, Chuckles. We just need to be completely honest. We need to tell her everything." Will pursed her lips thoughtfully and nodded.

There was a beat, and then Stu raised a finger. "We don't have to tell her everything. I mean, we can leave out the stuff about me marrying a hooker. And you and–" he fell silent and Will looked around to see Phil sending him a stern look. She watched them hold a short, silent conversation before their gaze broke and Stu nodded. "Just stay focused on Doug," he finished. Will frowned, confused and suspicious. What was that about?

"What am I gonna tell my dad about this car?" Alan sighed, sounding more than a little stressed. They slowed to a stop at a set of traffic lights up ahead.

"Alan, relax," Phil told him, turning in his seat. "It's just the inside. Come on, I got a guy in LA who's great with interiors—"

There was a roar of an engine, an enormous black form swallowed the light behind Phil, and then they were slammed to the side as a large black Jeep rammed the Mercedes. Glass exploded, metal crunched and then Will's head struck the window, hard.

Reality swum as Will faded in and out of consciousness, watching through half-lidded eyes for half-moments, a world that was too loud, too bright and as unfocused and unreal as lying on the bottom of a swimming pool and watching the world from beneath the surface. There was a tinny ringing in her ears, an incessant throbbing in her head. She heard familiar voices yelling in shock and panic and then in horror as they realised her voice had not joined theirs.

"_Oh, Jesus!"_

"_Oh my god!"_

"_Will?! _Will!_"_

The darkness encroached, the lights dimmed and everything was gone.

It could have been a minute or a year. It felt like both as Will returned to life and found herself alone in the crumpled, torn and shattered Mercedes. Her bones ached as she slowly sat up, her ears ringing, her mind apparently unable to keep up with the movements of her battered body. A hot wetness fell into her left eye and she winced as it stung.

Raising a hand she felt it on her fingers, and followed its trail across her temple to her hairline, where a sharp and dull and rolling pain flared. Copper filled her nostrils and her stomach flipped as she held her hand to her eyes and she saw the thick, impossibly red blood on her fingers. Blinking through the blood and the tears, her mind turned to her friends, terrified that they might be just as, if not more injured than she.

Clambering across the glass-speckled seat, she made it to the opposite door and peered out, blinking hard as her head swum as she tried to focus through the lights and the noise and the throbbing agony.

"You kidnapped our friend!" she heard, but couldn't make sense of the words.

"Doug, it's okay! It's okay!"

"Kidnapper!"

"Wait!"

"Oh, no. You're not going anywhere."

Will squinted through the swirling mess that was her reality and saw a large black Jeep reversing into the road, and Stuart Price clinging to the front of it, being dragged across the pavement in his white shoes and pants.

"Stop!" he cried, letting go and standing in front of the car. "Stop. Run me over!" he dared, and flinched as the car skidded forward, nearly doing just that. "Okay, whoa. Whoa!" he cried, stumbling away. There was a blur of blue and her eyes focussed on the tall form of Phil running around to the driver's side of the Jeep and smacking the door with the flat of his hand.

"Stu, Stu, Stu!" he cried, grabbing his friend's shirt and pulling him fully out of the way of the vehicle.

A certain movement of her torso sent pain ripping across her chest, across her ribs and down her spine. Will gasped, clinging to the door and fumbling for the handle. She heard an unfamiliar man's voice coming from the wound-down window of the Jeep but was too disoriented to hear the words. Then there was a squeal of tires and the Jeep shot off into the dark streets.

"Well, at least take the bag off his head!" Phil yelled after it.

"Fuck!" she heard Stu cry.

Then her fingers, slippery with blood, found the handle and pulled. The door swung suddenly open, and having been leaning upon it, Will tumbled out onto the glass-covered ground. Legs still in the car, her shoulders and head on the ground and one arm crushed awkwardly beneath her, Will stilled there and groaned in agony, glaring up at the dark, blurry sky.

"Oh!" she heard Phil's strangled shout, and then the pounding of feet on the pavement coming toward her. "Fuck, Will!"

"Will!" Stu's voice was heard, his footsteps joining Phil's.

Will groaned as Phil threw himself at her side, his blue and red form suddenly filling her vision. He swore as he looked her over, and she had no doubt that she was surely a sight to behold.

"Holy shit," Stu gasped, standing over her, his eyes wide behind his glasses, looking more terrified than she had ever seen him.

"Is she okay?" Alan whimpered nearby.

Will closed her eyes and tried to tug her arm out from beneath her exhausted and battered body, and seeing her effort, Phil took gentle hold of her elbow and pulled it out, relieving the pressure on her shoulder. She moaned in relief, squinting her left eye as more blood pooled into it and dripped down across her cheekbone and into her ear.

"Is Will going to die?" Alan asked.

Will grunted, opening her eyes and throwing a hand in his general direction, letting it fall to the pavement by her head, "Fuck off, Alan."

At the sound of her voice, as strained as it was, Phil and Stu drew in quick breaths, drawing closer to her. "Will," Phil said, his voice urgent. "Will, talk to me. How do I help? What do I do?"

"Help me up," she grumbled after a moment, wincing as her skull throbbed. She reached out a hand and Phil was quick to grab it. She felt Stu kneel at her other side, and each took a gentle hold of her arm and her back and slid her fully out of the car. "Fuck," she groaned, and they immediately stilled their motions as she squeezed her eyes shut and breathed out the flaring pain in her ribs. "Holy shit," she laughed painedly, "Fucking _ow_."

"Will, what do I _do_?"

The two men knelt on either side of her as she groaned, and held her upright as they watched her carefully, their eyes bright with concern. She pulled her feet fully out of the car and just sat there a moment while she fought with the urge to vomit or pass out or simply lay down and die.

"I'm okay," she puffed, gently removing her arm from Phil's grip and wiping at her eye and forehead with her shirt. "My head and my ribs..." she grimaced, hesitantly pressing a finger into the most tender spot on her chest. "Maybe broken, definitely bruised," she took a deep breath, wiping a hand across her forehead and grimacing at the blood there. "I think I'm okay."

"You _think?" _Phil scoffed incredulously, staring in horror at the blood smeared across her hand. He looked over her to his friend._ "_Stu?"

"I think we should get her to a hospital," was his immediate response.

Phil sucked in a quick breath, thought hard a moment, and then looked at her seriously. "Will, we can take you to a hospital if you need it, but you have to really need it," he told her. She blinked, trying to keep up with his words. "We don't have much time."

"What?" she frowned. "Time for what?"

He glanced to Stu, and then to Alan who clutched his stomach and whimpered nearby, and then he took a deep breath and told her, "Someone's taken Doug."

Her heart stopped. Covered in blood, partly-broken, battered and seriously bruised, Will Billings rose her eyes, wild and wide to sear into the steady blue eyes of Phil Wenneck and forgot about the car crash, forgot about her injuries, forgot it all.

Her body surged forward, her fingers clawed tightly into the material of his dirty and bloodied blue shirt and she dragged him toward her face, their noses almost touching as her heart filled with rage, her eyes burned with fury, her irate breaths came quick through her gritted teeth and with a feral growl she spat, "_What?_"

/

Will swore viciously as she tugged out the last draw, held it upside down and shook the contents out onto the ground. Nothing.

From the other side of the room, digging through the closet, Phil glanced over. "It has to be here somewhere. We'll find it. Just keep looking."

"I am looking, Phil. What the hell do you think I've been doing? It's not here."

"It has to be here."

She shot him a frustrated look from across the mattress-less room, which was now even messier than they had left it that morning. They had emptied every drawer and cupboard, shaken out every bag and looked under every surface and still they couldn't find the bag that her brother's kidnapper was demanding as ransom.

Will's hand went to her head, where a throbbing migraine had settled behind her eyes, sending waves of pain across her skull, down her neck and through her entire body. She was stiff and in more physical pain than she could remember having been in her life, but her mind was sharp and determined.

The others had filled her in on the developments in their search for Doug that had come about while she was unconscious. A man, the same one who had been found naked in the trunk of the Mercedes, had rammed his Jeep into their car and had dragged them out and demanded that they return to him a bag which they had apparently stolen from him last night, which contained the equivalent of $80,000 in casino chips. And as ransom, he had kidnapped her brother and told them that if they didn't deliver the money at the meeting spot in the morning, Doug would die.

"It has to be here," she repeated his words in a whisper. Then she turned on her heel and marched out to the living room, where Stu was removing the pillows from the couches.

"Anything?" she called as she double checked the empty drawers by the dining table, glancing into the bathroom to see Alan searching the cupboards there as Phil exited the room behind her and marched over to the bar, shoving empty bottles, cans and wrappers, as well as the chicken, aside to search for the bag which they were quickly beginning to realise was nowhere to be found.

"No, nothing yet," Stu reported.

"Where the hell would he have left it?" she scowled, slamming an empty drawer shut.

"Well, it's _Alan," _Stu huffed, tossing another pillow to the ground.

Alan returned from the bathroom, empty-handed, "Guys, I'm telling you, I looked for it this morning before we left. It's not anywhere."

Will released an angry breath, massaging her sore temples and wincing at the pain in her ribs and head and body and everything as across the room, Phil slammed his hands down on the bar.

"Fuck!" he swore, and then looked to Stu, who was elbow deep in the couch. "Stu, how much you got in the bank?"

Stu thought a moment, standing, "About 10 grand, maybe more. I was gonna use it for the wedding."

"Well, you're already married," Phil said, walking over to join him by the couch, "so we're good there. Besides, enough with Melissa, she's the worst."

"Yeah," Alan said, glancing beneath an upturned pillow where it leaned against a couch. "Doug told me she had sex with a pilot or something like that."

Phil nodded sagely as he sat across from Stu, glancing over at Will as she drifted toward them and plopped herself down on the edge of his chair, picking up the bag of pills and empty packets from the glass table and popping a few, wincing at the pain in her ribs and head, gently prodding at the scab on her hairline. Phil's arm wrapped around her, his hand warm on her hip as she leaned into his side. He squeezed her comfortingly and she sighed.

"It was a bartender on a cruise," Stu huffed, scowling at them. "What is wrong with you people?" As he spoke, Alan pulled a slice of pizza from beneath the couch and took a large, crunchy bite. "Ew, Alan!" Stu cried in disgust. "Did you just eat sofa pizza?"

"Yes," Alan answered as if it were no big deal.

"What are we gonna do?" Phil asked, wiping a hand over his face. "We are so fucked."

Stu stared helplessly at him as Will leaned further into Phil's side, trying to ignore the pain and stave off the panic, both not very successfully.

"Hey, guys?" Alan said, getting their attention.

Stu perked up, sitting forward excitedly. "Did you find it?"

"Nope," Alan shook his head, took a breath and then presented a familiar green book. "But check this out." On the cover, in bold yellow lettering, it read 'The World's Greatest Blackjack Book.' Alan looked around, eyes shining with excitement.

Will looked at Stu, who looked at Phil, who looked at Alan. "Can you do it?" Phil asked the hairy man as hope blossomed in their chests.

Alan grinned.

/

"Christ, Phil." Will yelled through the bathroom door, banging on it with a fist. "How long does it take to do your hair?"

"Cool it, Chuckles," came the reply. "Perfection takes time."

"Well, hurry it up, princess." She huffed, tugging at the skirt of her dress. "Time is money."

Will shook her head as she moved down the hallway, glancing into her room to see Stu sitting on the bed, talking animatedly into the phone to his wife, trying to get her in on their harebrained plan. He nodded as their eyes met, indicating that it was going well. She nodded back, watching him adjust his collar before she turned and walked into the living room, a pair of heels hanging from her fingers.

She dropped them on the couch and trotted over to Alan, who leant by the bar, dressed in a suit he had burrowed off Stu, the white shirt buttoned to his chin, his hand freshly bandaged courtesy of Will, and his freshly washed hair parted right down the middle, reading over the blackjack book with intense focus while calmly sipping from a mug she hadn't seen before.

"Alan, my main man!" she said with nervous bravado, "How you feeling? You ready for this?"

"I was born ready, Will," he answered in a serious voice, but his eyes sparkled with excitement.

Will grinned, leaning over to brush a loose thread from his shoulder. "That's what I like to hear!"

He smiled at her, placing the mug on the bar before he returned to his reading. Will decided to let him be, hoping that his confidence wasn't ill-founded. So much depended on this moronic man-child and there was nothing she could do was have faith that he wouldn't screw this up as well. As she turned to return to the couch and put on her shoes, something about the mug caught her eye. With casual curiousity, she reached out and turned the handle, and saw that there was something printed on the side.

"'Forever Yours'," she read with a chuckle, briefly glancing at the little love-hearts surrounding a larger heart with a picture of a newly-married couple inside. "That's so cheesy," she laughed. And then she actually looked at the picture.

She froze.

"What is this?" she heard herself ask, as if from very far away. The longer she stared at the picture, the more certain she became that she was dreaming. That she was hallucinating. That this couldn't be real.

"A sample mug," Alan said, looking up from his book. "From the Best Little Chapel. I found it when I was looking in the kitchen." He shrugged, as if her entire world wasn't crashing down around her with every word he spoke, with every beat of her heart.

"What the—What the fuck is—No." She turned the mug in her hands, willing it to disappear. She rubbed at the picture, at the love-heart, at the words, thinking that it must be some kind of joke. It would rub off, it would vanish. This wasn't the first time she had seen something that wasn't real. She was under a lot of stress. She had relapsed. She was crazy.

But Alan stood across from her, blinking uncomprehendingly, and he was real, and she didn't feel the way she did when she was having an episode, but surely she must be. Her hands shook, and then her arms, and then she was trembling all over and all she could hear was the pounding of her heart and the rasping of her breaths as she shook her head and everything in her denied the reality of what her eyes were telling her.

"No, this isn't— This can't be right," she whispered shakily, eyes glued to the happy faces of the two people grinning up at her from the mug.

"Yeah," Alan said, his face breaking out in a smile. "You and Phil got married last night."

Will had never fainted before, but as she stood there, clutching a mug from the Best Little Chapel with the happily drunk faces of her and Phil printed on its side and Alan's words, said with such innocent carelessness echoing through her suddenly empty mind, she thought she might. Too weak to stand, she wavered and leaned heavily against the bar, unable to form a single thought as her brain tripped over itself and she felt that something in her must have broken.

"I don't understand," she mumbled, her voice near inaudible as she continued to turn the mug between her fingers, staring blankly.

She felt Alan's eyes on her, quiet in his evident realisation that something was wrong, and behind her she heard two sets of footsteps approach.

"Hey," Stu said, "So, Jade said that she can meet us there—" He fell silent and there was a beat before he asked, "What's going on?"

The sound of her friend's voice drove her to action and she rose and turned, holding up the mug between two fingers and presented it to the two freshly washed and finely dressed men who stood before her. In a deceptively calm but clipped tone, she asked, "What is _this?_"

Two sets of eyes went very wide, Phil's smile vanished from his face, and the heavy silence that fell over their suddenly tense forms was oppressive. And though she didn't expect to be able to even look at Phil Wenneck again, in practice, she could look at no one but him. Her eyes were unwavering in her heated and dangerously expectant stare, burning into his stunned blue eyes as his lips parted and she readied herself for an eloquent, bullshit explanation from the man who always had an answer for everything. Yet all that tumbled from his mouth was, _"Oh shit."_

Beside him, Stu shook his head, turning his head to scowl at the man behind her, "Good going, Alan."

Will looked to her friend, her face twisted by betrayal and disbelief, "You _knew_?"

"Will—" Phil winced, and her wild-eyed glare swept back to him.

"Are you fucking kidding me?" she cried. "So, this is real?" she waved the mug wildly, spilling milk over the smooth tiled floor. "This actually happened?"

Phil took a deep breath, his face the picture of agony and regret as he stepped forward, arms reaching for her. "I was gonna—"

She snarled viciously at his approach and he froze in his step, his blue eyes wide and shocked in the face of her fury. "And you failed to mention this _why?" _she sneered. "What is _wrong _with you?"

"Will," Phil said, his face drawn, his eyes bright as he took another slow step toward her, in spite of her increasing aggression at his continued approach. "I was gonna tell you," he huffed, "but I got a little bit distracted when a group of gun-toting Asians showed up and tried to kill us!"

A scoff of derision, her heart aching in her chest, her muscles tightening to the point of pain, her every injury throbbing incessantly, and a chant of twisted, scornful thoughts growing louder and louder in her head: _Liar. Liar. Liar._

It hurt to look at him, to be in the same room as him, to think about him, but she couldn't tear her eyes away. A whirlpool of emotions swept her away and her vision clouded, tinged red and black. She was so mad, so horrified, so mortified, so fucking _hurt. _

"And there wasn't any point in time between then and now that you could've taken the time to tell me that we got fucking _hitched_ last night?" she screeched, her voice breaking, the pitch warbling, the force straining her throat. Her vision blurred and she wiped angrily at her eyes, throwing the mug forcefully into the sink, ignoring how Alan jumped at the loud clang of ceramic on metal. She turned her back to Phil, not wanting to see the look on his treacherous face.

"_Fucking fuck!"_ She ran her hands through her hair, desperately holding onto that anger, that betrayal, that confusion, knowing that she had to keep going, she had to keep moving, there was no time to properly patch up her physical injuries let alone her mental ones. There was no time to curl up and cry.

No one spoke as she gathered up the pieces of herself and haphazardly stuck them back together with masking tape and glue, until at last she took a long, deep breath and straightened, wiping at her eyes as she filled her mind with Doug and their plan, focussing on the here and the now, and not on her broken trust and shrivelled, tortured, abandoned dreams.

"Okay," she said, clearing her throat as she raised her eyes, her face cold as she met Alan's gaze, and then turned to look to address them all, purposefully avoiding even looking in Phil's direction. The mess of indecipherable, intense emotions was steadily repressed, shoved inch by inch into a box in the dark corner of her mind to be dealt with later.

"Okay, here's what's gonna happen. We are going to get Doug back," she told them resolutely, "We're gonna get the hell out of Vegas, get him married to Tracy, and then," she took a sharp breath, still avoiding even glancing toward Phil, "on Tuesday we're gonna drive back here and get this," she gestured toward the mug laying abandoned in the sink, "dealt with, and then never talk about it again. Okay?" she asked the silent room. "Okay," she nodded, "Good. Let's do this." And without another glance to any of them, she marched over to the couch and threw herself on it, grabbing her heels and tugging them onto her feet, ignoring the hushed and urgent conversation that arose between the three behind her.

Will waited in a stony, unwavering silence by the door until the others were ready, and then without looking at them, she led the way to the elevators and pushed the button, making sure to keep her distance from Phil, who she could not help but notice glanced at her every few seconds, trying to catch her eye.

"Hey, Will?" Alan chirped as the elevator dinged, and she resisted the urge to just drop-kick the idiot who continually insisted on breaking awkward silences with his inane comments and questions. "Can you check my hair? I think the part might be crooked."

"No," she said, her voice short and final.

He sighed disappointedly as they stepped into the empty elevator and looked at himself in the shine of the closing elevator doors, touching his hair. Will was annoyed at just the sight of him. They were silent as the elevator descended, Will standing as far from Phil and Stu as she could, her arms tight over her chest, her teeth set and her face cold and impassive.

Alan sniffed, looking around at the quiet party before his eyes settled on Will. In a voice she supposed was intended to be quiet and discreet, which was an impossibility in the dead silence of a tiny elevator, he leant toward her and asked in a whisper, casual as always,

"Have you decided yet?"

Through gritted teeth, eyes flashing, she nevertheless stumbled a moment on her answer, and at the near imperceptible hesitation, she saw Phil jerk, his eyes burning into her face as she at last cleared her throat, shifting in equal amounts discomfort and dull surprise at herself as she answered, "No."

"Okay," Alan nodded, satisfied yet again by her answer as he turned away and rocked on the balls of his feet, watching the numbers click down.

Scratching her arm self-consciously as she wilted further against the wall of the elevator, Will tried to hide from Phil's now steady and no doubt entirely unhappy stare which felt an almost physical pressure on her skin. But her mind was busy contemplating that the question Alan Garner had been asking her for six years may soon have to be answered. If they failed tonight, if her brother killed through direct fault of their drunken actions last night, if she was responsible for the death of her brother, what would her answer be?

Could she really go home to their empty house? Could she really look at his friends, at his fiancé? Could she go to his funeral and cry over his grave? Could she live with herself? Would she?

Will took a slow, deep breath and swept the thoughts aside. She would cross that bridge if it came to it, but for now, her brother was alive, and they were each going to do their damndest to do what they had to keep him that way, and to get him home safe.

/

"Are you guys breaking up?" Alan asked about a minute later, looking between Phil and Will with child-like concern.

They ignored him.

Stu sniffed from beside her, rolling his shoulders along the wall to send her a dry look. "So is this your first marital spat?" he muttered, wryly.

"Stu," she warned, not bothering to glare at him.

He shrugged and said thoughtfully, his voice quiet in her ear as he glanced at Phil, "I mean, he's no stripper but—"

"Stu, I swear to god..." she snapped, looking at him sharply.

"Sorry, sorry," he said, insincerely, raising his hands as she scowled harshly. His eyes were wide and innocent as the elevator arrived at the ground floor and they exited, moving toward the lobby, looking out for the ATM bank.

"Mrs Wilma Wenneck is kinda catchy, though, don't you think?" Stu commented, and Will had the sudden urge to pull out her hair. "Rolls off the tongue—Ow!" His taunts were cut off with a hard punch to his shoulder and he flinched away from her, grabbing his abused arm and wincing through his chuckles.

"Asshole," she grumbled as they stopped by a column and Phil gestured toward a row of ATMs. Stu shook his head at her, far more amused than she cared for him to be, and then trotted off to empty his accounts. Alan wandered over to the dramatic water feature in the centre of the enormous lobby, and then she was alone with Phil, who was staring at her again.

And as much as she wanted to be angry, be furious at him, to ignore him for the rest of the night, possibly her life, and as stupid as she felt for letting herself be weak, for dropping her guard, even slightly, and for trusting him even a little bit, allowing for him to lie to her, to deceive her, to hurt her, as he had done before, the reality of it was that she _was_ hurt, and she was in pain, and she was exhausted, and she just wanted her brother back, and she wanted to go home and she was just so goddamn _tired _of Vegas and of feeling like this_. _Confused and lost and sad. It's all she was for years, it's all she is some days, weeks, still, and it's all that she never wants to be. She just wanted it to end.

"You look beautiful." Phil's voice was low and quiet and earnest in her ear. And her heart hurt to hear it. She stood in the shadow of the column and sighed, feeling his warmth as he came to stand at her side. His cologne filled her nose, and her eyes grew wet at the memories which came with it, recent and not so. It hurt to be sad. It hurt to be lied to. _It hurt_.

"You should have told me," she whispered, staring at the ground, hiding in what little darkness she could.

Phil nodded, "I know."

"Why didn't you?" she asked, her eyes tracing the pattern of the carpet.

"Because I knew that you would freak out," he said. "And I didn't want you thinking that..." he trailed off, and she felt him tense and uncomfortable and upset beside her. Curiousity made her turn her head to glance at him from the corner of her eye, her arms wrapped tightly around her as she saw his face.

"What?" she asked, when he didn't continue.

He drew a deep breath, turning his face from her as if ashamed, or as if he didn't want her to see the true depth of his honesty. His voice was terse with frustration, "I didn't want to see the look on your face when you found out."

Her head raised, her face turning more fully toward him as he turned further away. She thought it incredibly strange that she was the one who had been lied to, and who was rightfully offended, and yet he seemed just as, if not more so, upset as she. She could see in his shoulders, hear it in his voice. Everything about him called out to her and told her that he was hurting.

"What look?" she asked him, her eyes on the curve of his throat, the curl of his dark collar, the line of his jaw, the shell of his ear.

He was quiet for a long moment, and she wished that he would look at her, so that she could determine for sure what he was really thinking. What was he so afraid of that he had had her future brother-in-law and her best friend hide what had happened last night? What could Phil Wenneck, of all people, possibly be afraid of?

She watched him draw a deep breath, and then he said, "Like it was the worst thing in the world to have married me."

There were so many things that she could have said, but in the end she didn't say anything at all. Turning her head from him as he turned back to her, she hid her face behind a wall of hair, tucking her chin to her chest as she focussed on taking low, slow, normal breaths.

They were silent for a while, and an irritated grumble from Stu as he struggled with the ATM told them they would be there a while longer.

When the silence was once again too much for her, too intimate, too comfortable and too awkward at once, she cleared her throat and spoke, "You can't honestly say that you're okay with this."

He looked at her, "What would I not be okay with?"

She snorted, "Uh, the fact that you got married to your ex who you haven't seen or talked to in years. In Vegas. While you were drunk."

Looking to see his reaction, she was surprised when he shrugged honestly, completely unperturbed by this, of all things. She was relieved to see he seemed more comfortable with this topic, more casual and confident in the discussion.

"Dunno," he said, thinking over it, "sounds pretty ideal to me."

"Phil," she said, narrowing her eyes in disbelief.

He gave a short laugh and shook his head. "What do you want me to say?" he asked, crossing his arms, shrugging to his ears. "That I regret marrying you? I don't."

Blinking, she tried to detect any humour or sarcasm but there was none to be found. He stared openly back at her as she frowned, "You don't regret..."

"Why would I?" he asked gently, eyes shining. "I got to marry the woman I love, what's so bad about that?"

Her breath caught in her chest at the four-letter word, and she forced it out shakily before she reasoned, "We were drunk."

"So?"

Lips pursing, she squinted at him, her brow twisting incredulously, "You don't think it's moving a little fast?"

"Nope," he smiled, popping the 'p'.

"You're insane," she deduced, looking away from him, shifting uncomfortably as he shrugged again, his face lightening further as he watched her.

"I'm in love," he reasoned with a small laugh, and she did her best not to keel over or react in any way. Her heart rebelled, fluttering wildly in her chest even as her jaw clenched and her arms tightened defensively over her chest.

After a moment, she saw Phil's smile fade slightly, a line appearing between his brows as he leaned against the column beside her. He looked down at his hands and said in a voice that was carefully casual, "So, were you serious about, you know, getting an annulment after all this is over?"

"Uh, yeah," she nodded, and frowned at him. "Why?"

"I was just thinking that maybe, you know," he said, licking his lips, blue eyes flickering around before meeting hers, "we could give it a shot."

"What?" she blinked at him. "Marriage?"

"Yeah. I mean, why not?" he asked, and she decided it was a rhetorical question. "We're both grown adults who like each other very much. Hell, straight up we're already luckier than some."

"Right," she nodded, sardonically. "And what's your plan with that then? How are we gonna 'work things out'?" she quoted with a roll of her eyes.

"Well, if you're okay with it we could keep your house," he started, and her chest tightened as she watched him, realising that he seriously had thought about this. "Doug's already moving out to live with Tracy after their new place is finalised, so you could keep your room for you, and I could move into one of the spare rooms."

Her mouth became dry and she struggled to register his words as her eyes followed the gentle rise of his shoulders and the passing expressions on his face, and the way his thin lips curled around each word he spoke.

"I don't have too much stuff, considering, so it wouldn't be that big of a move. And your house is actually closer to the school than my place, so we're good there." He shrugged, eyes returning to hers. "And then we could live separately together for as long as we need and we can just go from there. See how things work out."

"And if they don't work out?" she asked.

"Then we get divorced; go our separate ways and at least we can say we tried," he told her. "What have you got to lose?"

"Oh, I don't know," she said with a cynical roll of her eyes. "My sanity? Yours?" Her brow furrowed but it was no longer directed at him. With a huffy sigh, she said with sarcastic and defensive self-deprecation, "You have to know I'm not exactly the easiest person to be around, let alone live with."

"I'm sure I can handle it," he smiled, and nudged her shoulder with his. "I know you, remember?"

"No," she scoffed bitterly. "That's the thing. You _really_ don't," she shook her head angrily, not looking at him as she moved the conversation into a territory she was one-hundred percent not okay with, yet at the same time determined for him to know exactly what he was insisting he get involved in. "You may think you know who I am but you don't. I'm not the girl I used to be. I can't just..." She took a deep breath, knowing the best way to scare him off but reluctant to actually do it.

Glancing around the lobby of Caesar's Palace, eyes lingering on the front desk where she had laughed with Doug, and then watching Stu glower at the apparently rebellious ATM machine, and then Alan who was amusing himself by splashing people trying to take pictures with their families by the water-feature, Will decided there was nothing for it. What did she have to lose, right?

"Do you remember that day?" she asked, staring at the ground once more as she determinedly kept steady and careful control of her heartbeat, her breathing, her thoughts. "The accident?" she whispered.

"'Course I remember," he said, his voice low as he watched her carefully.

She wondered if she could really tell him. She wondered what the point would be. And then she wondered if not Phil Wenneck, who could she tell? Her therapist knew, for sure, but in the grand scheme of things, they didn't really count. They were a third-party, removed from real life, a sanctuary from it. Phil was just about as close to reality as she could ever get. And something in her wanted to tell him. What if she never got another chance? Once this was over, once her brother was dead or alive. Either way, they might never meet again.

He might never understand, she knew that, for much of her trauma was internal. The wordless thoughts which plagued her, the nameless emotions which drowned her. But her actions she could articulate. She could tell him. She took a breath, dimly amused at her choice of timing, of setting. This was a story for the dark, for a campfire, for torches held beneath your chin, for a comforting embrace, for the stillness beneath a tent of bed sheets, to be whispered into the night air and caught by the silent listener. Equal parts a tragedy, and a horror story.

If there was ever anyone who should know this story, the story of the night that changed her life, she decided that she wanted it to be him. Whether he understood it or not, he would know.

So she took a deep breath, and she began,

"It was a month almost to the day after you left me. A couple of girls from school dragged me out of the house and we went to the pub and we got so drunk. We were flirting with everyone and being too loud and I completely forgot about how fucking destroyed I was because I missed you so much," she laughed sadly, licking her lips. "And then there you were, walking right up to our table and I thought that you were there to take me back. And as furious and hurt as I was, I would've done it in a heartbeat," she shrugged, swallowing hard.

"I was so nervous when you asked me to talk, but when we went outside, you wouldn't say anything. And then we got in your car and you drove me home. And before we even turned into the street, something just... I knew."

A shaky breath and she paused as everything in her began to scream and thrash and she closed her eyes against the wave and she struggled for a moment to keep her head above the flood, and she didn't know she was clutching herself and gasping until she felt Phil shift toward her, and his warm arm pressed against hers and after a moment, it got easier. She squeezed her eyes until they hurt, until she could think again and in a whisper she managed to continue, in a voice that sounded nothing like her own.

"Then I saw the police car in the driveway, and I was out of the car before you had stopped and I ran inside and I saw Doug and nobody even had to say I thing I just knew that they were gone. And it was just us. And I couldn't do anything but sit there and just..." She filled her lungs with air and held it as she pressed against Phil's arm, her eyes stinging, that old scar twisting at her battered heart. And then she moved away, filling the space between them with cool air. Her eyes opened and she could speak from there, after that point of destruction, of death, of ending. Everything after that moment was nothing in comparison.

"I don't even know who arranged the funeral. Maybe Tracy and the Garners," she shook her head with a shrug. "I don't know. I barely remember any of it. I remember after though, in my room. That's where I first met Alan," she said, and felt Phil's surprise. She raised her head to find Alan Garner in the crowd of the lobby, seeing him now making faces at a small child and laughing in the face of an offended parent. She shook her head in exasperation.

"He was poking around, not touching anything. Just looking, like it was a museum. He was so young then. There were so many people downstairs, all looking at me with so much pity," she sneered distastefully, looking down as she got lost in the memory. "I didn't even know who they were. I didn't know why they were all invited or why they were in my house. Everything was so cold. Dark colours and champagne glasses.

"So, I went upstairs and I found Alan and we didn't say anything until I was climbing out the window. And he asked me if I was going to kill myself, because he'd read about it in a comic. People killing themselves to be with the people they love. I said 'Maybe. I haven't decided,' and then he nodded and I left.

"I went to the cliff in the woods outside my house and I just stood there on the edge and just... cried. I was gonna slit my wrists and jump. If one didn't kill me then the other would. If I was gonna do it, it had to be a sure thing."

A deep breath as she remembered the freezing damp of her clothes, the way the wind tore at her face, the way the cold metal felt in her hand, against her skin, that wet heat that fell from her arm and melted the snow at her feet, staining it such a bright red...

"It was dark by the time I had got the courage to do one wrist and start on the other. Then I heard Doug and you and a couple of the others trying to find me. I hid behind a tree and I heard you talking to Doug and calling my name."

She closed her eyes and watched the memory play, clear as day, in the dark of her eyelids.

"I saw you standing on the edge of the cliff," she whispered. "I saw your face, and I heard Doug ask, in this terrible voice like he didn't want to know, if you saw me there. And you were so relieved to be able to say no."

"And then I couldn't do it," she said with a weak shrug, the mere act of telling the story thoroughly exhausting her. "So, I waited til you were gone, then I went home and I patched myself up and I cleaned up the blood and I just went to bed. And I knew my limit. As bad as it got after, I never went back to that cliff," she told him, hoping he comprehended how important that was. "Because there was no way I would ever want to hear Doug's voice like that again. I couldn't leave him alone."

And with that, she had done it. She came back to herself as if waking from a trance, blinking and straightening and clearing her throat and terrified to turn and look at him. She didn't want pity or disgust or awkward uncertainty. Not from him. She wondered if he understood any of it. Or if he was even still listening. But just as she was drawing up the courage to peer out from her hiding place behind her veil of dark hair, he startled her, as he was wont to do, and instead of anything else she had expected him to do, he began to speak. And he told her his own story.

"I remember, after," he said, in a voice quiet and steady. "We searched for hours and then it was too dark and too cold so we went home and I was gonna call the police but Doug saw that your window was open. So, we went up to your room and you were in your bed but you were so still and the room was so cold and for a moment we just stood outside and were too scared to go in because we thought that you had..."

A deep breath sucked in and out of his lungs, filling his chest as she watched him squeeze his eyes shut, rub his forehead, wince and flinch at the memory as if he were just as affected by it as she was by her own. Could he remember that moment as vividly as she remembered his face as he peered over the edge of the blood-stained cliff, searching in the darkness for the pale, broken shape of her body strewn across the rocks far below?

"But I went in and I looked under the covers and there you were. I had never seen anyone so sad or so small. Or so alive. And I could smell the blood on you, and I could see it under your nails but there was none on the bed so we let you be. I told Doug to take you to the doctor the next day.

"And then I left," he spat. "I should have stayed, but I left. And I didn't come back because I was a fucking coward and Doug had told me how much I had hurt you..." His face twisted in rage as he sneered and shook his head in disgust. "Fucking idiot. I mean, what sort of screwed up logic...?" he laughed bitterly and she gaped in honest astonishment at the intensity of his self-disgust and hatred in that moment; too much for him to even articulate.

She didn't notice how she turned fully toward him, her arms unwinding from her chest, her hands itching to catch his hateful, terrible words; to stop them from spewing venomously from his beautiful lips, to smooth his handsome face and to find out where all of this awful emotion was coming from and put a stop to it. Never in her life had she ever dreamed that Phil could think like this, could talk about himself like this, could think of himself like this.

In her mind, he was Phil Wenneck, the smooth, confident and popular playboy, whose blue eyes lit up like the stars and whose smile lit up the world. He was ridiculously cool and funny and handsome and strong. He was smart and he cared about the little guy and could charm his way into or out of anything. He loved pizza rolls and his football as much as he loved history, and he hated Hemingway and secretly loved tea and bubble baths, and he hated sushi and anything to do with salad, and he was scared of horses and he _wasn't like this_. He wasn't this angry person filled with self-disgust and regret. He was Phil.

"I left you because I loved you, and I stayed away because I didn't want to hurt you anymore." He shook his head. "I mean if anyone is fucked up here, it's gotta be me."

What had happened? Where had this come from? Had _she_ done this? She reached for him, but didn't know what to do. Should she pat him, hold him, hug him? What she wanted and what she felt she couldn't do clashed in her and in the end, she let her hand fall back to her side. She returned to her place, leaning against the column beside him, and when she found she had moved too close, and their shoulders brushed, she didn't pull away.

"I think we both get that diagnosis," she muttered.

He snorted, "A draw, then?" But as he sighed, dropping his head back against the column, she felt him press his side against hers, and she pressed back and there they stayed. A first step.

Feeling equal parts exposed and relieved, she leaned against him and they watched Stu smack the side of the machine, and then cry out in victory. And standing in the lobby of Caesar's Palace, having survived being drugged, shot at, arrested, beaten by a naked Asian, attacked by a tiger, and rammed by a Jeep, Will realised that she was not falling for him again. She had fallen a long time ago, and now, after all this time and all the confusion and heartbreak and pain, she was pulling herself out of the hole she had been in without him. He was pulling her out, inch by inch, word by word, touch by touch.

She was healing.

"When we get Doug back..." she said, slowly, carefully, feeling the back of her hand brush against his. "Afterwards...We can talk about it," she told him, uncertainly, fearfully, bravely, the words thick in her mouth but sounding right in the air between them. "Staying married."

"Okay," he nodded. "Good. Will?"

"Yeah?"

"I'm sorry," he said, his voice a whisper. "For not telling you, for leaving, for not coming back. All of it. I'm so sorry."

"Me too."

His hand curled around hers. Her head fell against his shoulder.

"I love you, Will," she heard him say. "Always have, always will. And I promise, I will never leave you again."

Stu approached, waving a thick wad of cash victoriously; completely oblivious to the momentous step his friends had just taken.

"Alright," he cried. "Who's ready to win some blackjack?"

Will smiled at him, and then at Phil when he turned to look at her, and her heart tripped in her chest when he smiled back.

"Where's Alan?" Stu asked, looking about impatiently. "Alan!" he yelled, evidently spotting the man. "C'mon, man, leave those people alone! They don't want to talk to you. Alan!"

"You really think he can pull this off?" Will mumbled as they watched Stu hurry off to save a couple of tourists from their hairy companion.

"'Course I do," Phil said, squeezing her hand. "Gotta have a little faith in the guy, Chuckles."

"Yeah, and trust," she scoffed, seeing Stu have to physically drag Alan away from a twelve year old who he was apparently about to brawl with. "And a little bit of pixie dust."

Phil laughed at that, and she felt him kiss the top of her head before he led her away from the shadow of the column and toward their friends.

"Okay, people," he nodded at each of them, his grin confident and determined and she almost forgot that this was the same man who had burned so deeply with self-loathing and regret only a minute before. She squeezed his hand and felt the cracked and broken pieces of her tainted and shrivelled heart burst at the grin he sent her way, "Let's do this."


	12. Chance and Fate

Will didn't understand gambling. She didn't understand the thrill or the temptation of it. Hell, she didn't even understand the excitement of card-games, or how to play them, let alone understand how they were used to win actual money.

Will was rather overwhelmed, standing behind Alan, who stood at a blackjack table, surrounded by thousands of well-dressed people, lit by bright neon lights and shining reflective columns. The air-conditioners were pumping, but they couldn't remove the stench of alcohol, sweat, excitement and desperation from the air.

The casino was loud, deafening to her sore ears and dully throbbing head, but she tried to keep her face impassive as she watched the dealer lay out the cards, his glasses highly reflective in the bright lights of the casino, his white jacket pristine.

In front of her, Alan stood, looking impeccable in his double-breasted grey suit, his hair slicked in a part down the middle and his bread neatly groomed. All that ruined the image of a slick casino-goer was the welt on his head where the crowbar had struck him, and his black eye.

"Hey," Phil said, returning from the bar. He handed her a cold glass of alcohol and she took it was a thankful smile. "How we doin'?"

She shrugged, sipping at the drink and wincing slightly as the alcohol swept over her tongue and hit her throat. Her lips parted to answer in the same moment that Alan moved forward to occupy the empty seat before him, reaching into the inside pocket of his jacket and taking out the two wads of Stu's money, placing the full $10,000 on the table in front of them. Will took a sharp breath and sculled half of her drink. Phil chugged down his beer and reached out to place a hand on her lower back comfortingly. This was it. It was all up to Alan now.

"Change only, ten-thousand," the dealer called over his shoulder.

"What?" Will squinted.

Phil leaned toward her, murmuring in her ear, "He's changing out the cash for chips."

"Oh," she nodded.

"You never played blackjack before?" he chuckled lowly, his eyes sparkling.

Flushing, she looked into her drink, playing with the straw. "You always did it for me."

He nodded considerately and shuffled a little closer to her side, hand sliding across her back to take hold of her hip. Will chewed on her cheek and marvelled at how quickly they had fallen back into the old ways, touching and flirting and reading each other so well.

But they had a long way to go, she knew. Six years worth of heartbreak on top of everything else they had each suffered in their time apart wouldn't just go away after one weekend. But it was a start.

"Hey, uh, these seats taken?"

She glanced up to see Stu, looking smarmy in his gold shirt, dark suit and slick hair, with Jade, dressed in a bold red dress, dramatic black necklace and hair in the most beautiful shining curls Will had ever seen, on his arm, approach the table. The gap where his tooth used to be stood out, and only added to the seedy look.

"No, feel free," Jim the dealer nodded toward the empty seats.

Will avoided meeting their gaze, not wanting to give anything away. Her brother's life depended on them all playing their parts, and playing them well. Not to mention the fact that, yet again, what they were doing was totally illegal and they could get arrested by the police, or worse, killed by angry casino bosses. Or maybe Will had seen too many movies. She took another long sip of her drink and watched the table, intent on staying calm.

"Alright," Stu declared excitedly, pounding gently on the table, "Let's play some blackjack!"

Phil's arm slid from her waist as he stepped forward and patted Alan's shoulder encouragingly, looking around and scratching his nose as he paced a few steps and then back again. Will's eyebrow rose as she sipped at her drink, watching him fidget at her side.

"You nervous?" she chirped.

He took a long swig of his almost finished beer. "Fuck yes, I'm nervous," he told her.

"Go get us another drink," she recommended, and watched as he finished his glass.

"Good idea. Be right back," she watched his retreating back, admiring the line of his shoulders in his black suit, and the curl of his hair, and she wondered if this would keep.

Once they got Doug back and returned to the real world and everything calmed down, what would they think then? How would they feel about their accidental marriage? Would he stand by his many declarations of love and promises to stay? To move in with her, to figure it out?

Will flinched as Alan stands, the house busts, and Stu and Jade screamed as they won their first hand. Twirling her straw nervously, she watched the cards and tried to remember how the game was played, and wondered how the hell Alan was going to cheat their way to riches. Several more hands were played, with Alan and Stu winning here and there, their piles of chips growing slowly but steadily.

Phil returned with their drinks and they downed these quickly, followed by two more, and as the alcohol hit and the towers of chips grew, Will started to think that maybe they could really do this.

The hand ended, they all hit, and then Alan smiled calmly and contently as he won a double down. Thousands of dollars worth of chips were pushed his way. Will squealed in delight, clutching the hairy man's shoulder and giving it a squeeze as Phil punched the air.

"That's it!" he shouted, the alcohol apparently kicking in as he flung an arm around her in his excitement. "Shut up, bitches!"

"Phil," Will warned, amused as she smacked his chest and took another swig of his beer.

Hand after hand was won, Alan apparently becoming more practised with each win, bolder, more confident and the chips kept coming. They watch as Alan hit, then stand, and then dig through his pockets for a small stick of chap-stick.

"Hmm," Jade hummed thoughtfully when it was her play, glancing at Alan to see him applying a generous amount of the stuff to his lips. "I'll stick," she apparently decided.

"What's a stick?" Will mumbled to Phil.

"A stand."

She nodded, "Okay."

He giggled and pressed a wet, drunken kiss to her cheek, pulling away only when Stu and Jade cheered their win. Arm still wrapped around her, he raised his other hand, waving his glass around as he yelled at the impassive dealer, "Oh, fuck you! Fuck you!"

Pressing a hand to his stomach to stop him from pitching forward onto the table, Will chuckled and carefully removed the half-full glass from his hand, deciding that he had had enough. "My dude, chill."

Will and Phil now on solely water, their eyes were wide and excited as they counted the now enormous pile of money in chip-form which sat in front of Alan's crossed arms.

"Splitting fives," Jim the dealer called, glancing over his shoulder at a pit boss nearby. Will narrowed her eyes as the serious-looking man wrote something down on his clip board before slowly moving off. "Too many," he said, of his hand.

"Yes!" Phil cried.

"Alan, my man!" Will grinned, wrapping an arm around his shoulders and hugging the seated man from behind. She felt him pat her hand and she laughed as they glanced around in time to see Jade pull Stu in and crush her red lips to his. Stu melted into the kiss. Alan watched intently.

Phil grabbed her hips and pulled her off Alan, gathering her once again beneath his arm and taking a long drink of water. She relaxed into his side, her body thrumming with alcohol and excitement and a healthy dose of fear as she sipped on her drink.

"I don't even know you," Stu said to Alan as he bet his next hand, "but I'm gonna tell you that's dumb." Jim the dealer seemed to agree, blinking and shaking his head in astonishment as he dealt the cards. Alan said nothing as their hands were dealt, and a moment later, Stu won his hand and punched the air in excitement. "Yes! Oh!"

"Okay, come on!" Phil cried as Alan won another hand, the pile of chips before him growing larger and larger every hand. Will was stunned at the amount of money they had at their fingertips. This was really happening. "He can't lose. He can't lose!"

"Seriously," Will said, grabbing Phil's arm, her brow creasing as she met Jade's eye, the two noticing that they were drawing too much attention. Her stomach fluttered with excitement and the thrill of fear. "Cool it."

"I'm gonna get another drink," the over-excited man told her. "You want anything?"

She shook her head and he moved off. Will took a slow drink from her cup, her eyes watching the pit boss and the security guard muttering to each other a few tables down, their attention on Alan's table.

Trying not to draw more attention by looking too concerned, Will cleared her throat and squeezed Alan's shoulder. She saw Jade tilt her head toward Stu and whisper something in his ear before they both glanced toward the pit boss and the security guard, who were now openly watching them. Will watched the pit boss move to a white security phone, glancing up at the many security cameras hiding in the black globes on the roof above.

Will leaned forward, murmuring in Alan's ear, "Keep it up. You're doing great."

He shuffled happily in his seat as Phil returned and she tugged him down so she could tell him they were being watched. Instead of calming down, however, Phil got louder, swearing and flipping off the security cameras, and she wondered if this was meant to keep attention on himself and away from Alan, or if he was really this drunk.

Stu and Jade won a double down, Jade squealing in absolute delight. Phil mussed up Alan's hair, yelling in drunken exuberance as he won his own hand. Will was chatting with a woman and her husband nearby when she saw Jade glance over to where the pit boss said something to a security guard, who nodded and started to head their way.

Jade began laughing hysterically, bouncing in her chair. Will looked to Phil, who had also noticed the guard's approach, and they quickly descended upon Alan, hurriedly filling their pockets with the chips as the security guard came closer and closer, and then they heard a shriek and turned to see Jade falling back in her chair and crashing to the ground. There were gasps of shock as she moaned in pain, and Stu dropped to her side.

"Oh my god!"

The security guard, who had been so stern-faced before, hurried over and knelt on Jade's other side, his eyes wide with concern, "Are you okay?"

And while Jade and Stu distracted the guard and the cameras, the three made their quick exit, waiting impatiently as their chips were exchanged for cash, and handed to them in a complementary bag, and then cackled with glee as they fled up the elevators.

"Holy shit!"

"That was incredible!"

"I'll get the car," Phil told them, bag of money hanging loosely on his shoulder, laughing and clapping Alan on the back as they exited the casino lobby, stepping out into the warm night air, and skipped down the steps to the valet. "That was crazy!"

"You did it, Alan," Will grinned.

"That was fun," Alan chuckled.

"Hey," they turned to see Stu and Jade come down the steps behind them, "we all okay?"

"Stu!" Will dove into his arms, squeezing him tight. "You guys were great in there!"

"Us? It was all thanks to Alan," Stu smiled at the blushing man. "He was amazing. I could hardly believe it."

Phil thanked the valet manager and joined them where they waited by the side of the road, all talking over each other in their excitement. Arms wrapped around Will's waist and she jumped in surprise as Phil rested his chin on her shoulder, his blue eyes alight and the smile on his face the brightest she had seen in a long time. Leaning back in his warm, solid embrace as he talked animatedly to Stu, Will looked at Jade, who was rubbing her neck.

"You okay?"

"Yeah," the woman nodded, "took a little fall, but I'll be alright."

"I saw you take one for the team. Quick thinking," she smiled in approval, and Jade flushed in appreciation. Will's brow crinkled in concern as she continued to massage her neck. "You sure you're alright?"

Jade laughed, "Really, I'm fine. But thanks."

They grinned at each other.

The car pulled up and they all piled in, Stu having to climb in through the passenger window as the door was buckled and bent. Phil, who was their designated drunk driver, slid into the front seat, and Will found herself squished between Alan and Jade in the back. Laughing and jostling each other until they were comfortable, Phil paid the valet boy his tip, turned up the radio, saluted a farewell, and with a squeal of tires, they sped off into the night.

/

The distant mountains were blue against the golden sky as the morning sun slowly rose over the Mojave desert. A dark, winding road stretched for countless miles, lined by the dusty sands and the dry, flat and bushy landscape. The desert was large and quiet and still. Then, on the lonely road, leaving a cloud of dust in its wake, appeared a single car.

It was silver, shining in the rising sunlight, a thing of pride. But as it sped down the highway, one saw that it was badly dented, the passenger door twisted firmly shut, the glass in all four side windows missing, the windshield cracked and warped, but otherwise intact. The headlights shone bright, the wheels drove straight and the motor chugged along well enough. One could almost ignore that the interior was ripped to shreds, fine leather in tatters revealing the plush cushions beneath; the ragtop torn in places, the wind whistling through the gaps, the scent of fear and sweat and tiger urine soaked into the seats, ripe in the air.

Four people occupied the speeding vehicle, their bodies bruised, battered, sore, their eyes stinging with exhaustion, their minds cloudy with fatigue, all dreaming of a warm bath and a soft bed. But the determination, the outrage, the fear, drove them on. Thoughts of their brother, their friend, sitting in the back of a mobster's dark car, his hands bound, his head covered, his life in their hands, his fate determined by the cash they had cheated from a casino table.

Though they feared, they lounged, and they yawned. Blinked against the light of the rising sun, fought against the drifting of their eyes, imagined they had time to stop for coffee, wishing they had accepted Jade's offer of a quick stop when they had dropped her home a quarter of an hour ago. The radio was on, but not loud, the signal shaky and the sound warped since the crash. The result was tinny, distant, almost unnerving.

Will wiped the makeup from her lips, slid on her sunglasses, tugged at her skirt, removed her shoes and inspected the blisters on her red and throbbing feet. Beside her, Alan blinked awake, snorting and snuffling and squinting out the window as he sat up, trying to shake away the sleep. Will watched Phil in the rear-view mirror as he yawned hugely, covering his mouth with the back of a hand as he tried to focus on the road but kept glancing back, his blue eyes bright and thoughtful as he watched her through the same reflection that she now watched him.

She wanted to touch him, squeeze his shoulder, meet his gaze, share a hopeful smile. She supposed now that they had come to somewhat of an understanding she was allowed to do such a thing, but she didn't. Her eyes danced away when his rose to the mirror and she sank in her chair, massaging the arches of her feet, and pretended that she didn't notice her husband's – her _husband! –_ gentle stare.

Too tired to wonder what he was thinking, too sore to care, her attention drifted to Stu in the passenger seat, who held the bag of cash on his lap and counted the piles of money, muttering under his breath, his eyes gleaming behind his glasses as each pile was added to the count.

"And 100, 200, 300, 400..." Stu counted aloud, drawing their attention as he sat up straight in his chair and looked about with a grin brighter than the rising sun. "Oh! With all this, that's_ $82,400!_"

A wide grin spread across their faces at the news, Will bubbling with laughter as Phil smacked the steering wheel. Stu shook his head in giddy disbelief as they glanced around at Alan, who sat with the most humble smile they had seen, his eyes shining with the glow of their approval.

"Oh _goddammit_ it!" Phil laughed.

Stu cackled, fanning himself with the cash, "Whoo!"

"I don't fucking believe it!" Phil bounced in his seat animatedly, grinning at Alan in the mirror.

Will beamed at the man at her side, her heart fluttering in her chest with the knowledge that they had really and honestly pulled the plan off. They had the money. This was happening. She leaned over and planted a solid kiss on his hairy cheek, pulling back to grin at his surprised and delighted face and muss up his hair. "You are my fucking hero, bro."

"Alan," Phil called, "you're the man!"

The blushing Alan reddened further, the light in his eyes almost exploding as he quickly chirped back, "You are too, Phil."

Will chuckled, watching him as he glanced her way and blushed again, his shoulders around his ears as he sat, happier than she had ever seen him, and basked in his success.

"We should come back next week," Phil said, "take the whole city down."

Stu shook his head, the gap in his teeth more than noticeable as he laughed.

"Oh, I'm free next week," Alan said.

Beside him, Will shook her head with Stu, leaning back in her seat and declaring, "There is no way in hell that I am ever coming back here. _Ever_."

Stu nodded, looking over at Phil, "Or we could just focus on getting Doug back, right now."

Their smiles faded at the reminder of their mission, and Stu busied himself with putting the $80,000 in the bag and zipping it up tight. The remainder he put in the glove box. Phil took renewed interest in the road, and Will felt the car gain speed, for the first time not giving a second thought to the fact that their driver was well over the blood-alcohol limit and was driving this car at speeds far higher than she had ever gone before. All she could find it in her to care about was that they were headed toward Doug.

In less than an hour, they would hand over the money Alan had won, and in return, her brother would be returned to her. The mere thought of having him sitting beside her in the car as they sped as far away from Vegas as possible had her near in tears. There was nothing in the world that she wanted more, or wanted at all at this moment, than Doug, safe and sound at her side, where he belonged.

"Uh, you know what?" Alan said after a moment. "Next week's no good, the Jonas Brothers are in town. But any week after that is totally fine."

This caught her interest, "Oh, the Jonas Brothers are coming? Could you get me a ticket?"

She heard Stu snort, and chose to ignore him, content in the memory of his full enjoyment of Camp Rock when he had watched it with her, years ago.

"I think they're sold out," Alan said, his voice apologetic.

"Oh," she said.

"I think it's safe to say that our luck as officially turned around, guys," Phil said, his voice loud with excitement. "We are back, baby," he punched the steering wheel, his face stretched into a wide grin, his eyes alight as they met Will's in the mirror. "We are fucking back!"

"We are back," Stu joined in, turning in his seat to beam at Alan, "Classic! We are _back!" _he sang.

"That's right!" Phil laughed as Will chuckled in the back.

"We are back!" Stu sang, "We are getting Doug back!"

Body thrumming with excitement, Will sat back in her seat, looking out the window with a sigh of relief, listening to her friends chat and sing excitedly as they drew closer and closer to her brother.

"_Finally."_

/

The sun had well and truly risen by the time they reached the meeting point. Heat radiated from the ground as the light reflected brightly on the white sandy flats where they pulled off the road and toward a large black Jeep that sat waiting, its dark form ominous even in the morning sun. The Mercedes rolled to a stop, and Phil cut the engine.

Alan and Will leaned forward, their fingers digging nervously into the front seats as they peered through the windscreen, their stomachs fluttering and their hearts in their throats.

"Is that them?" Will whispered into the tense silence.

"Yep," Stu said, holding the bag of cash in his lap.

Will let out a shaky breath, "Doug's in there."

The men drew themselves up at her words, glancing at each other, and then back to the Jeep.

"Now what?" Phil asked, squinting through his sunglasses.

"Give him the signal," Alan told him.

They looked at him.

"What signal?"

"Flash your lights," Alan said. "Let him know it's on."

"What's on?" Phil asked.

Stu and Will frowned at each other in the rearview mirror, shifting uncomfortably as the stillness stretched on, and there was no movement from the Jeep.

"The deal," Alan said.

"Well, of course it's on," Phil huffed, gesturing with annoyance. "We just drove 30 miles into the desert. He knows it's on."

Will sucked in a breath through her teeth. "This is creepy," she muttered.

Stu turned to his friend, the tension now palpable. "Phil, just do something!"

Will poked Phil's shoulder, "Flash the lights."

He sighed, but did as she said, "Fine."

They held their breath as he clicked the lights on, counted a beat, and then turned them off. Barely a moment later, the front and rear doors of the Jeep opened and several men stepped out.

Alan nodded approvingly, though his brow was creased and his face stern, "Oh shit, see?"

"Alright," Phil said, unclicking his belt, "let's go."

Will's heart was near bursting in her chest as they clambered out of the car. Phil swung open his working door, folding the driver's seat forward and holding the door as she climbed out. Stu slid deftly out the window, only stumbling a bit as he carried the bag of cash out with him. Phil closed the door behind Will, and did not have to say a word to silently demand that she stay behind him.

Walking around to the front of the Mercedes, Stu joining them, they glanced around as they heard Alan give a low cry as he fell out of the car window, grunting as he hit the ground.

There was a high-pitched laugh, and Will's attention was caught. Leaning slightly to see around Phil's tall shoulder, dimly noticing how the man shifted to stay before her as she moved, Will saw a short man of Chinese descent, dressed in a white turtle-neck sweater beneath a bomber jacket of varying shades of brown, long white slacks and cowboy boots. Gold and diamond rings glinted on his fingers and his chrome shades shone brightly in the sunlight.

He stood with one hand on his hip, the other at his collar; his entire being radiating more powerful arrogance than she believed could ever be contained in a person of such short stature. Flanked by two men in dark suits, his cronies no doubt, one familiar as the man who had shot a gun at them at the Best Little Chapel the day before, the mob boss pointed and laughed as Alan rolled to his knees, his grey suit now covered in dust, and then clambered to his feet with a wince.

"Ha ha ha!" the man cackled. "Funny fat guy fall on face."

Will knew at once that they weren't going to get along. Her face darkened and her fingers curled around Phil's forearm, bare where he had rolled his sleeves in the desert heat. He squared his shoulders, scowling through his glasses.

"You okay?" she heard Stu inquire of Alan.

"Yeah," Alan nodded, looking embarrassed as Stu helped brush some of the dust from his sleeve.

"Alright, we got the money," Phil declared, gaining the mob boss' attention. "Eighty-grand. Cash."

"Throw it over," the man demanded, gesturing imperiously. "Then I give you Doug."

"Um, I'm sorry," Stu raised a finger to interject. Will and Phil looked at him as he put on his professional voice, politely greeting the man who had kidnapped their brother and friend. "First of all, good morning. And we didn't catch your name last night."

"Mr. Chow," the man drawled. "Leslie Chow."

Will's eyes narrowed, and she felt the tension in Phil's muscles, though he, for once in his life, decided to stay quiet.

"Mr. Chow, it is a pleasure. My name is Stu," their friend introduced. "And we would very much appreciate an opportunity to see Doug before we give you the money, just to verify that he's okay," Stu finished awkwardly. "…If that's cool."

Impressed at Stu's forethought, Will held her breath as they watched Mr. Chow remove his enormous aviators and squint at them as he folded the arms and placed them into his jacket pocket.

"Of course, Stu," Mr. Chow nodded, surprisingly amicably. "That is cool."

The next moment, the man clapped his hands twice, and in a tone somehow higher than his speaking one, shouted a short order at the man who waited by the car. He opened the rear door.

Will removed herself from Phil, moving quickly to stand on the other side of Stu, craning to see her brother as he was pulled from the backseat of the vehicle. She ignored Phil as he made a noise in the back of his throat and reached for her as she took a step forward in the neutral ground between her friends and Mr. Chow. It took every ounce of self-control, along with the quiet speaking of her name from Stu and the low grumble of nervous irritation from Phil to stop there and to be content to watch as Doug, at last, came into view.

She thought she might choke on her heart as it settled in her throat, as a strange mix of relief and utter despair filled her as she saw her baby brother being pulled from the depths of the Jeep, a white bag over his head, his hands bound and his mouth apparently gagged as muffled sounds of protest could be heard from him. Will was filled with joy and rage as they marched him closer, closer, almost in her reach. Mr. Chow watched them, watched her, in the way one would watch a bug.

"Doug," she called, her gaze fixated on her brother as she heard her friends sigh in relief behind her.

"Oh, thank god," Stu laughed.

"Okay," Phil sighed, not sounding quite so happy to see his friend gagged and bound.

"See, he fine," Mr. Chow said, waving a hand as he spoke. His pleasant expression fell away then, his eyes darkening as he looked at Stu, and at the bag in his hands. "Now, give me money or I shoot him," he said, pointing almost apathetically at Doug, as the henchman at his side pulled aside the flap of his jacket to reveal the gun in his belt, smirking as he did, "and I shoot_ all_ you motherfuckers. And then we _take_ it. Your choice, bitches," Mr. Chow shrugged.

But as he was speaking, something had begun to feel off. Will looked at her brother, _really _looked at him, and now realized that she had never before seen the brown leather jacket that he wore, or the dark jeans or the shoes, and had he always been that tall? Excitement and anticipation was replaced by doubt and confusion as each second ticked by and something within her that was natural and instinctual and far cleverer than she began to declare with more and more certainty that _this wasn't right, this wasn't Doug_. But it _had _to be, it just _had _to.

Even so, she glanced over her shoulder and looked to her friends, wondering if they were thinking the same thing, if they had their doubts, wanting one of them to demand that they take the bag off his head just so she could quiet the dissenting voices in her mind, so that she could be assured that this was really the end, this was really her brother, they were getting him _back_.

Phil's hands were on his hips, his body tight with tension, his eyes hard, the line of his jaw stern with barely contained emotion as he turned to glower at the hesitant Stu, snapping, "Give him the money, Stu."

"Okay," Stu nodded, swinging his arm low and throwing the bag toward Mr. Chow, who flinched away with a strangled shriek. His henchman caught the bag in the air, and Mr. Chow resumed his superior pose, squinting in the sunlight.

There was a long moment as the henchman opened the man and looked inside, doing a quick count and finding it adequate. Will watched between the man and her brother, her frown deepening as she once again took in the line of his shoulders, his brown leather jacket and the position of his body. Was this really Doug?

"It's all there," the henchman reported.

Beady eyes gleaming with satisfaction, Mr. Chow waved a hand and ordered, "Let him go."

There was a collective draw of breath as Doug was marched forward, and Will tried to ignore what her mind was telling her, what she _knew _but was so desperate to deny. Doug would never wear that shirt, nor a grey undershirt beneath it; this man's belly was too rounded, his legs too long, his muffled tones too low.

"Alright, take it easy," Phil said. "Take it easy."

Will knew it before the bag was torn from his head, before a set of dark eyes in a brown-toned face, the mouth sealed with thick duct tape, the hair covered by what looked to be a stocking, was revealed for all to see.

"Ta-da," Mr. Chow sang.

Their faces fell. They stumbled back. Stu let out a cry.

Will couldn't even breathe.

"Is this some kind of joke?" Phil demanded, what little control he had now completely gone. His voice grew angrier with every word that growled, ripped, tore from his throat. "Who the hell is _this_?"

"That is not Doug!" Stu shouted, pointing at the stranger who was not her brother. Will stared with wide eyes, her mind flat-lining as her friends came to the realisation that they had been fooled, their hopes had been dashed, everything was _wrong_.

"What you talking about, Willis?" Mr. Chow squealed, waving a finger, glowering as he pointed at the stranger. "That him!"

"It's not Doug." Her voice was flat, monotonous to her own ears. Was it even coming from her mouth? Her mind floated, empty and dark in her feather-light skull. Her body was made of rock, anchoring her to the reality that could not be real. The sun shone cold on her skin. "He's not Doug."

"No, I'm sorry, Mr Chow," Stu said, his voice strained, sounding as if he could hardly believe the words in his mouth. "That's not our friend. He... That's..."

"The Doug we're looking for is a white," Alan said, bluntly.

There was a rip and a cry of pain as the tape was torn from not-Doug's mouth. His eyes were irate as he looked over his shoulder, shouting at Mr. Chow, "I told you you had the wrong guy, little boy!" His glare turned to Alan, who blinked at him with dawning recognition. Struggling against his captor, not-Doug was let free, and marched forward to stand before the short, hairy man. "Damn, Alan," not-Doug scowled, "what the fuck you got me into?"

Phil looked at Alan in shock, "You know him?

"Yeah," Alan said, wondrously, "this is the guy that sold me the bad drugs. How you doing?"

"I didn't sell you no fucking bad drugs," not-Doug snapped, looking offended.

"Wait," Stu said, patting Alan's shoulder, pointing at the man. "He sold you the Ru—Ruphylin?"

"Ruphylin?' the man squinted at Stu, clearly confused. "I sold you that Ru...? What?"

"_Who gives a shit?" _Phil roared, turning on Chow. "Where is Doug?"

"I am Doug," the man said.

Alan blinked at him, "Your name's Doug?"

"Yes, I'm Doug," the not-Doug Doug nodded.

"His name's Doug too," Alan chuckled. "Classic mix-up."

Mr. Chow yawned theatrically, "Come on." Waving at his henchmen as Alan and not-Doug Doug squabbled, the three mobsters turned on their heels and headed back to the Jeep.

"Hey, Chow!" Phil shouted. "You gave us the wrong Doug!"

"Not my problem," Mr. Chow declared.

"No, fuck that shit!" Phil roared. "Now, you give us our eighty-grand back and take him with you!"

"No, no," not-Doug Doug plead. "Come on, man. I'll be your Doug."

"Oh, yeah, okay," Mr. Chow laughed. "Oh, I take him back. Ah, right after you suck on these _little Chinese nuts_!" he cackled, squeezing the front of his white pants with both hands, apparently finding the situation hilarious.

"Ah, that's nasty," not-Doug Doug cringed, looking away.

"Mmm," Chow moaned. "How that sound?" he mimicked jacking off, throwing his hand in their direction, "Unh, pshh! So long, gay boys!"

And with a final flourishing flick of his hand, Leslie Chow turned on his high-heeled heel and climbed into his Jeep.

"Wait a second!" Phil cried after him, to no avail.

"He's a nasty little motherfucker," not-Doug Doug grumbled as the engine started and the Jeep turned and drove away.

"Hey," Alan chirped, "did you ever get any ecstasy?"

"No, I ain't got no fucking ecstasy."

Will stared blankly at the clouds of dust settling behind the dark form of the Jeep as it sped into the distance. There was nothing. Nothing left in her as she watched the vehicle drive away. No thoughts. No emotion. Nothing registered. All rationality fled. She descended. She was gone.

Behind her, Stu rocked on his heels, groaning and pulling at his hair. Phil kicked at the ground, swearing at the sky, more aggressive fury in his voice than she had ever known him capable. Stupid, childish Alan followed his example.

And Will sank to the ground. A stumble, a fall, until her bare knees were pressed against the hot, scratchy sand, her head too heavy for her to hold, her back twisting, arching, breaking; pain lancing through her every muscle, searing her every nerve, tearing her lungs, bursting her organs, unravelling her mind— her nails dug into rock, the bones in her hand bending, aching, the pain sharp but not enough of a spark of real in the darkness which submerged her, the waves smashed against her, shattering bones, rending skin, dragging her under, deeper, deeper, filling her body, bursting her mind – is this how it had been before? how could she survive this? how could she want to? – a trembling heap on the desert floor, a shadow of a person, the shell of a human, she made her decision; to die now would be a mercy.

"Oh my god." The words came from her, though she could not feel them from her throat. They needed no prompting, no order from her twisted, lost mind. They tumbled from her lips. A whisper. A chant. A prayer. A plea to a higher power she never believed in, never cared for. Who else could she beg now? "Oh my god. Oh god. Please. God."

Her forehead was against the sand, the dust in her eyes. She thought of gouging them out. Filling the pockets with this white sand. Filling her mouth. Her body. She could be mummified like the pharaohs of old. What use had she of eyes now? To see a world without Doug? Without her little brother?

There was noise, not from her, a scuffle of dust, and the deep thudding reverberations of footsteps on solid sand. Arms wrapped around her waist, pulled her up from the dirt, pressed her against a hot, silky chest. Heavy breaths sounded above her around her as she was scooped into his embrace. A face appeared before her unseeing eyes, large hands wiped at her forehead, her cheeks, a voice called her name over and over until her ears performed their duty and heard his words.

"Will, it's okay. Will, look at me."

"_He's gone_," she rasped, sand in her nose, her eyes, her throat. She blinked seeing at once the darkness, and the desert, and an impossible, shining blue. "_Doug's gone_."

"No," a voice growled, pawing at her cheeks, holding her jaw, shaking her violently, trying to get her to see, to listen. "He's _not_. Doug's fine."

Her head shook, side to side, so ardently that her neck strained and her hair struck her eyes, caught in her mouth, tangled around her throat. "He's not fine. He's not. He's not f— He was supposed to be here."

"Wilma, listen to me." His voice low and urgent and firm. The words were thick in her ears, distant and heavy and dreamlike. "We will find him. I promise you." A forehead pressed to hers. A cold nosetip against her own. "You need to breathe, Will." A hot breath against her lips, dry and cracked and numb. A hand on her face. An arm around her, holding her close and upright. "You hear me? I promise." A whisper. "_It will be okay_."

An explosion. Sand flew. A fist struck a jaw. Bodies flew apart. Cries of pain, of fury, of hurt. But the words were hers. The rage was hers. And her eyes saw his face, his eyes wide, his lip bloody, his hair in messy waves, his skin streaked with dirt, and she had never viewed another sight with such clarity as this.

"_Shut up! _Just shut up! It's not okay! He was supposed to be here!" she screamed, throwing sand, wild in her fear, her pain. Her voice was strong and strangled, vicious and shaking. She pointed at not-Doug Doug, her hand covered in sand, her gesture accusatory, her voice hateful, her eyes filled with grief. "He was supposed to be him and he's _not!_"

A sob. From her? From Phil, where he sat in the sand across from her, cradling his face where she had struck him, cowering in shock and horror at her true self, the one she warned him about; the wounded, feral creature that she was? Broken beyond repair, damaged beyond relief; everything about her was savage, uncontrollable, and completely irredeemable.

"_Where the fuck is my brother?!"_

To this, there was no answer.

Will fell onto her backside, drew up her legs, wrapped her arms around her knees and within the tight ball of her own body, she hid, rocking as she whimpered her brother's name over and over, the wounded rage ebbing, the agony all-encompassing.

A quiet voice nearby, muted and impossibly tired, heavy with concern, "What are we gonna do, Phil?"

Another voice, wounded and quiet and terribly sad, "I don't know."

A sigh. A gentle touch. Hands on her arms. Kind and helpful. Forgiving. Too much. _Too much_.

"Help me get her in the car."

/

She was tucked into the corner, looking out the glassless window but seeing nothing. Someone had put her belt on, she couldn't remember who. She didn't know where they were going, or what they spoke of, or if anyone spoke at all. Alan's leg was pressed against hers, not-Doug Doug sat on the far side, on the patch of tiger urine.

"Hey, Will." Stu's voice, carefully casual, subtly hopeful. She had had episodes. So many times. He had been there for them. She had pulled herself together before. "How you doin' over there?"

Not this time.

_Bleed and die._

_Bleed and die._

_I want to bleed and die._

"Is Will gonna be okay?"

Time had passed, the sun was high in the sky. Had she slept?

Alan's voice was childlike, unhappy, concerned.

"She'll be fine, Alan," Stu said, almost sounding as if he believed it himself. "She's just worried about, Doug is all."

_Bleed and die._

_Bleed and die._

_I'm going to bleed and die._

"I'm worried, too," Alan said.

Phil sighed, his knuckles white on the steering wheel, his split lip scabbing over.

"We all are."

They pulled over. It was the middle of nowhere, she was coherent enough to see that. She wondered how long she could walk in any direction before she died of thirst. The engine was cut.

Phil glanced at her in the mirror and leaned toward Stu, lowering his voice. She wished she wasn't coming back to herself, that she couldn't hear their words or notice their looks or the bloody scab on Phil's lip.

She wished she wasn't intelligible enough now that her mind was filled with thoughts of the Cliff. Wondering how long it would take to travel there. If anyone would let her out of their sight long enough after last time. If there was a quicker, surer way of doing it.

"Alright," Phil muttered, his face drawn, his blue eyes tired. "I'm gonna call Tracy. Just... watch her okay?" he told Stu, inadvertently answering her question. "Don't let her out of your sight for a minute."

"Got it," Stu nodded, glancing at her with sad eyes behind his glasses.

They piled out of the car. Stu all but dragged her out, sat her on the floor by the wheels. He stood beside her, leaning against the car, his leg against her arm. He had never known what to say, but he had always been there, just like this. Just by being there. Will wanted to cry. She didn't deserve him.

Alan hopped onto the bonnet, sitting cross-legged as he watched Phil where he stood on the other side of the road, hand on his hip as he talked to Tracy on the phone, as he told her how much they had fucked up. How Doug was gone. How everything was wrong.

Will sat against the car, picking at the rocky ground desolately, squinting at the bright sky and thinking about nothing. In her state, she could not even entertain the thought that this might not be the end; that Doug was alive and well and waiting for them.

Not-Doug Doug sighed loudly as he returned, having relieved himself nearby, as men were wont to do. He adjusted himself shamelessly as he leaned against the bonnet, beside Alan.

"Thanks for the lift back to town," he said, to an uncaring audience.

She heard Stu take a breath before feeling him step away from the car, turning to confront not-Doug Doug. Will glanced up, almost curious as she watched her friend and the drug dealer.

"I got a question for you," Stu said.

"What's up?"

"How did you wind up in Chow's car?"

Not-Doug Doug scoffed, looking disgusted, "That crazy asshole kidnapped me yesterday."

"Okay," Stu nodded, "but why? I mean, why you?"

"'Cause he thought I was with you guys cause we were all hangin' over at the Bellagio," he said.

Stu frowned at him, "What?"

"We were at the Bellagio?" Alan asked.

Not-Doug Doug looked between them, "Yeah, we were shooting craps. You don't remember?"

"No," Stu scoffed. "No, we don't remember. Because some dick drug dealer sold him Ruphylin," he gestured to Alan, "and told him it was ecstasy."

Wiping a hand over his face, Stu turned to check that Will hadn't moved from her spot, and sent her a weak smile when he found her watching him.

"Ruphylin," not-Doug Doug huffed, irritated. "There you go with that word. Ruphylin. Ruphylin. What the hell is a Ruphylin?"

"Wow! You are the world's shittiest drug dealer," Stu laughed bitterly. "Ruphylin, for your information, is the date-rape drug. You sold Alan roofies!"

At this revelation, the drug-dealer's face fell, "Oh, shit. I must have mixed up the bags. My fault, Alan," he said, sounding genuinely apologetic. He shook his head, "Damn, Marshall gonna be pissed off at me on that one."

"Whatever," Stu spat, leaning against the car, arms crossed tight.

"It's funny, 'cause just the other day, me and my boy, we was wondering why they even call them roofies. You know what I'm talking 'bout?" he chuckled.

"No," Stu sighed, massaging the bridge of his nose and shrugging. "Don't know what you're talking 'bout."

"Why not floories, right?" he continued, apparently oblivious to Stu's bad mood. "'Cause when you take 'em you're more likely to end up on the floor than the roof. What about groundies?" he said with a grin. "That's a good new name for 'em."

"Or, how about rapies?" Alan suggested.

"Wait," Stu interrupted, straightening. "What did you just say?"

"Rapies," Alan repeated.

"Not you," Stu waved at him dismissively. "Doug," he pointed. Will caught her friend's tone. "What did you say before?"

"I said groundies."

"No, before that," Stu shook his head, his eyes narrowed as he stared at the helpless not-Doug. "You said, 'You're more likely to wind up on the floor than...'" There was a beat of silence as they all stared at him in waiting confusion. Then he was off like a bullet, sprinting toward the other side of the road, waving his hands and shouting like a mad-man, "_Phil!_"

"Stu?" Will mumbled, frowning after her friend.

"Phil!" Stu bellowed, and threw himself at the man, sending them both crashing to the ground. As Phil rolled in the dirt, groaning and swearing, Stu scrambled for the phone, holding it to his ear and speaking animatedly to Tracy.

Across the road, Will's heart skipped a beat at her friend's antics. Slowly, she eased herself to her feet. A flicker of what felt like hope sparked in her chest. Leaning heavily against the car, her exhausted and bruised body trembling with the effort, she watched with intense focus as her friend hung up the phone, and all but dragged the scowling Phil to his feet.

"What the fuck, man?" Phil groaned.

"I know where Doug is!" Stu cried.

Will's heart stopped. "Stu?" she called, her voice trembling, terrified to allow that flicker of hope to flare.

"Will!" Stu cried, his face alight, his eyes gleaming and his exuberant smile bright as he shouted ecstatically, "_I know where Doug is!_"

As Phil and Stu hurried across the road, Will couldn't seem to move.

"I don't understand," she said, blinking at Stu as he all but gathered her into his arms and herded her around the car, helping her into her seat.

Alan and not-Doug Doug clambered over her and settled in quickly as Stu righted his seat and slid into place behind the wheel. Phil managed to climb somewhat gracefully through the window, his long legs tangling on the chair before he righted himself, seatbelts were arranged, and the engine was started.

"We gotta get back to Caesars," Stu cried, eyes bright with excitement as he pulled onto the road.

"Wait," Phil said, frowning at his friend uncertainly, "he's at the hotel?"

Stu nodded and laughed and was too overcome with the apparent genius of his realisation to elaborate further. Will sat forward in her sat, impatient.

"Stu," she snapped, eyes urgent, pleading, needing this.

"I don't know, man," he said, "It just hit me. You remember when we saw Doug's mattress impaled on that statue?"

"Yeah," Phil frowned, "it's because we threw it out the window."

Stu shook his head, eyes on the road, patting the steering wheel happily. "No, impossible," he said. "You can't open windows in Vegas hotels."

Phil blinked, "Well, then how did it get...?"

"The roof," Will breathed.

Phil's entire body leapt with excitement as the dots connected, and his eyes were as bright as Stu's as he met his friend's eyes, throwing up his hands in astonishment, "Oh my god!"

Stu nodded, cackling as he met Will's stunned gaze in the mirror.

"Holy shit," she mumbled, running a hand absent-mindedly through her hair, disgusted and overjoyed and amazed. "We were right there. He was _right there_."

Beside her, Alan pouted, not following and quite unhappy about it. "Whoa, wait, wait, wait. What's going on?"

"Doug was trying to signal someone," Stu explained.

"Holy shit!" Phil grinned. "Yes!"

"Oh my god," Will moaned.

"Wait," Phil squinted at Stu, "how did you figure that out?"

Stu smiled, "Doug made me realise it."

"_Doug?"_

"Uh, not our Doug," Stu said, pointing a thumb over his shoulder, "Black Doug."

"Hey, hey," Black Doug scowled, "easy with that shit. Come on."

"Sorry," Stu apologised drolly.

"Okay, can someone tell me where white Doug is?" Alan huffed.

"He's on the roof, Alan," Phil told him.

"Yes. He's on the roof!" Stu cried, gesticulating wildly. "We must have taken him up there on his mattress as a prank so he'd wake up on the roof!"

Bouncing in his seat with exuberance, Phil grinned hugely. "It's like that time in summer camp, remember? We moved his sleeping bag out in the jetty on the lake?" he laughed.

Stu nodded enthusiastically, laughing, "Which was hilarious. It's not so funny now, though," he amended, "because we forgot where we put him."

"You guys are fucking retarded, you know that?" Black Doug told them.

"Holy shit," Phil breathed, looking around. "You think he's still up there?"

Stu shrugged, "There's only one way to find out."

Will could only hold her breath as they sped down the desert road toward the shining towers of Las Vegas.

/

The car had not come to a stop before Will had clambered into the front seat and over Phil, ignoring his grunts of surprise and pain as she struggled through the window and all but threw herself from the car. She felt him try to grab her and heard him shout at Stu to stop but she had climbed out, falling to the ground and taking a moment to untangle her legs and reorient herself. In the next moment, she was sprinting toward the lobby of Caesar's Palace, narrowly avoiding being hit by a car, and then a trolley, and all but knocking over a family of tourists.

She pounded up the steps and burst through the doors, hearing her friends call after her, car doors slamming as they followed. Her shoes sank into the plush carpets as she hurried across the lobby and reached the row of elevators, slamming her hand repeatedly against the square upward arrow button on the wall.

Strangers looked at her oddly as she bounced restlessly on her feet, but she paid them no mind, her eyes watching the lights which indicated the approaching elevator, and a moment later, the elevator arrived and she dove within, turning and pressing then the button that would take her to the roof, in the same motion that she pressed the close-doors button. There was a sharp tapping of shoes and a flurry of material and suddenly Phil was beside her, panting and holding his glasses on his head, his shirt rumpled and his hair in disarray. Stu quickly joined them, and then they all watched as the doors began to close and they saw that Alan had not yet made it.

"Alan!" Phil cried to the man, who was pacing it across the hotel lobby, his face red, his eyes determined, and his consideration for all others that happened to be in his way at an all-time low. "Come on, buddy!"

"You can do it, Alan! Hurry up!" Stu encouraged.

And he did, slipping between the doors at the very last second and tumbling into the men, who caught him and patted his back as he huffed and puffed; sweat sticking his hair to his brow. They laughed a little, impressed and breathless.

Will appeared in agony as the elevator climbed, closing her eyes and clenching her fists and praying with all her might that Stu was right, that luck would be with them, that Doug would be here and that he would be okay. It seemed to her an hour before the elevator doors opened at last, and the ding sounded to tell them they had arrived. Will didn't hear it, for she had slipped through the gap between the opening doors and high-tailed it to the service stairs that led to the roof, once again ignoring each sign that told them they were not permitted, would be prosecuted, that it was dangerous.

And then she burst through the doors onto the roof and was blinded by the desert sun, even with her sunglasses on her face, and she shielded her eyes and looked desperately about.

"Doug!" she screamed, turning in a circle, taking in every inch of the roof, searching for any sign of her brother.

"Doug!" Phil bellowed, coming through the door behind her, sprinting across the roof, searching behind the metal pipes and monochromic boxes shielding machinery which spattered the rooftop.

"Doug!" yelled Stu, leaping through the door immediately after him, the armpits of his orange shirt stained with sweat, his hair stuck to his skin, his blue eyes darting about as he hurried to the opposite side of the roof.

"Doug, you up here, buddy?!" Phil cried, searching as Alan made sure to prop the door open with a cinderblock. "Where you at, Doug? Doug!"

With Alan and Phil searching the far side of the roof, Will stumbled over the metal piping and hurried toward the places on the roof where Stu had not yet looked, her heart in her throat, swelled with terror and hope and then—

"Hey, guys!_ He's over here!"_

They each spun about, stunned for a moment, their eyes wide, their mouths agape to see Stu run toward a low wall and crouch behind it. And then Will was streaking toward it, and Phil's astonished curse of relief echoed across the roof, and Alan hurried after her, laughing, "Hey, I found him! He's over here!"

And it didn't feel real as she turned the corner and saw a familiar pair of legs, clothed in black slacks, and a white shirt soaked with sweat and a head of dark hair, the skin burnt red but the features unmistakeably familiar.

She noted the white cracks on his lips, the white bedsheet wrapped around him, the sleeves pushed as far up the arms as possible, and she slowed in shock and could only stare as Stu knelt at his side and shook his arm and a pair of blue eyes opened to squint in obvious delirium.

Stu turned to her and cried, "He's okay!" and then laughed into Doug's burnt face, "You're okay! Ha ha ha!" And then Stu took Doug's hands and tugged him to his feet, "Oh god. We gotta go, buddy! Come on." Supporting him as Doug stumbled against him, Stu rubbed his back as Alan rushed to Doug's other side, whimpering with excitement. "Oh, we have been looking everywhere for you!" Stu told him.

Will continued to stand and stare and simply _look _at her brother, who stood before her alive and dehydrated and suffering first- maybe second-degree sunburns on his face, neck, chest, forearms and hands, and allowed herself to register that he was really, truly there. They had found him. He was alive.

"He's alive," Stu sighed her thoughts in relief as she heard Phil walk to her side, laughing and panting with joy to see his best friend.

His arm wrapped around her shoulders and he squeezed her tightly and it was at that moment that it all hit, and her throat tightened and the pressure built behind her eyes and her knees trembled with the relief which filled her body like a flush of cold water, invigorating her limbs and clearing her mind and allowing her to simply _breathe _once more.

"What the _fuck_ is going on?" Doug cried, staggering as he was supported by each elbow by Alan and Stu.

"We can explain everything," Stu soothed, looking down at his watch urgently, "but right now we gotta go."

And as they led them closer to where she and Phil stood, the man at her side grinned widely, his eyes shining as he greeted his friend, breathlessly, "Hey, bud. You okay?"

She saw Doug blink, focus on him, and then on her, and then on Phil's arm still around her shoulders and he said in a strained, confused tone, "No. Not okay."

"You look good," Phil said, gesturing toward his face, "you got some colour. I'm jealous."

"I'm getting married today," Doug stated, and the voice in which he spoke gave Will concern and she slipped from beneath Phil's arm and stepped toward her brother as Stu winced at his watch.

"Yes, you are," Phil nodded, his brown silk shirt glimmering in the sunlight as he became focussed on their new task. "And Doug, that's why you need to focus and do everything we say," he looked at his watch and then said in a voice that was neither kind nor considerate, "Because, frankly, you're wasting a little bit of time right now."

"Phil—" Will turned to scowl at him, but in the same moment, she saw, in the corner of her eye, her brother's face fall, and in the next moment, twist into an expression of avid fury. She hadn't the time to turn before Doug roared, _"You fucking asshole!"_ and threw himself at Phil, tackling him violently to the ground.

Will gave a strangled cry with Stu and Alan as she heard, more than saw, Phil hit the concrete and still there, groaning in agony. But seeing him coherent and conscious gave her confidence that he had been bruised and winded but not seriously injured by the attack, and so her attention turned to her brother, who in the moment following their fall to the ground, had rolled off his friend with a sharp yell of pain and lay on his back beside Phil and spasm there, wincing and crying, "Oh! Oh, my skin burns! My skin burns! Oh, ow! God!"

They crowded around the two pained friends, Alan pushing past Will to kneel at Doug's side.

"It's okay," Alan said, taking Doug's burnt face between his hands and speaking in a way that they supposed meant to soothe. "It's not your fault, Doug."

Doug slapped his hands away, glaring furiously. "Don't touch me," he snapped. "Shut up. All of you, shut up." After glaring a few beats longer, the breath left him and he let his head fall back against the concrete beneath him. "Just get me home," he said, breathless with exhaustion.

"Mm-hmm." Stu nodded fervently at this, patting Phil's knee absent-mindedly as the man continued to moan on the ground beside them.

"Just get me home," Doug said again.

They helped he and Phil to their feet and then made their way off the roof, down the stairs and into the elevator where they waited to descend to the level on which their suite was located. It was time, at last, to pack and leave this place, with their business now done and Doug returned to his rightful place at their side.

And as they entered their suite and Will herded her little brother into his bathroom and helped him undress and wash and soothe his burns, she felt that terrible voice and that sinister urge that lingered deep beneath the surface of her mind wither and fade until it returned to the place whence it came and whisper there, no longer powerful, no longer urgent,

_Bleed and die._

_Bleed and die._

_I want to bleed and die._

But not today.


	13. Home Stretch

They were in the bathroom. Not the bathroom in the main room, because that was covered in tiger urine and faeces and the smell was abhorrent, and not in the bathroom in the room she had never truly ended up sharing with Stu, but in Doug's.

Her brother had showered. She had changed out of her dusty dress, ducked out to buy a large bottle of aloe vera gel and fetch the near empty bag of pills from under the seat of the car, where she had forgotten it.

And now they stood in front of the sink, listening to the sounds of the others packing and half-heartedly cleaning the trashed hotel suite as it echoed into the bathroom, while she lathered his arms and shoulders and neck and face with the clear, gelatinous gel. Her eyes were on her hands where they rubbed circles on his skin, her mind apparently focussed on the task. Doug stood still, leaning with one arm resting on the bench before him, occasionally taking a long sip from his water bottle, which had been stuffed full of electrolytes.

"So," he said, casually, tiredly, presently, "this was a bit of a shit-show, huh?"

Her hands stilled and she didn't know that she had begun to sob until she realised that she could no longer see and she could no longer hear and then she was in her brother's arms and she was clinging to him as he whispered gently and hushed her softly and swayed on the spot as she bawled like a child.

"I… I thought I'd lost you."

"You thought you could get rid of me so easy?" he asked, still sounding dazed and exhausted as he laughed and patted her back.

"I was so scared," she whispered into his slimy, hot, red shoulder.

"We're okay. Hey," he said, pulling back so that he could smile at her snotty, flushed face. "We're okay. I'm not going anywhere."

"Uh, not true," Stu interjected, poking his head through the bathroom door. "We got a long drive ahead of us, you still haven't packed your shit, and we are leaving in five."

"It is_so_ nice to be back," Doug sighed.

Stu disappeared around the corner with a dramatic roll of his eyes.

Will chuckled, more like hiccupped, and wiped her face. "Forget him; he was just as worried as the rest of us."

Doug shook his head. "I'm sorry this all went to hell. It was supposed to be a fun weekend with you and the guys and instead you had to spend the whole time worried…"

"What the hell are you apologising for?" she laughed wetly, her eyes burning. "You're the one who got locked up on the roof for like, a day and a half. You got nothing to say sorry for. It definitely wasn't your fault."

"I'm just sorry I put you through all that," he said, concerned crinkles appearing on the red skin around his eyes. "Bringing you to Vegas was a stupid idea. The parties and the gambling… I know you hate all that stuff. And god knows the kinda stuff Phil would've gotten us into. And I know how you get…"

"How I _get?_" she huffed, shaking her head incredulously. "Doug, I thought you were _dead. _I don't give a flying fuck about anything that happened the last two days. The only thing that matters is that _you _are okay."

"Well, I am," he said, with a sad smile, pulling her in for another hug, not trying to hide the pained groan as she was pressed against his burnt skin. "We're okay, and we're going home and we are never coming back."

She grinned at her little brother, "That is the nicest thing anyone has ever said to me."

"Hey, uh, guys?" Stu drawled, reappearing in the doorway. "I know you're having a moment and reconnecting and all that but… What are we gonna do about the room?"

"Who cares?" Will said, stepping away while Doug shrugged on the soft bathrobe she had found for him, hissing at the contact on his shoulders.

"Uh, my literally empty bank account?" Stu huffed.

Will sighed and shrugged, sharing a look with Doug, who looked ridiculous in just shorts and a robe. "Just get out a loan, I don't know."

"Helpful," Stu sighed sardonically, and rolled his eyes again as Will patted his shoulder as they exited the bathroom.

"Stu, hey, don't worry about it," Phil called through the open door from the other room, as Doug picked up a few stray clothes and shoved them into his duffel bag on his mattress-less bed. "We'll get it sorted once we get back to LA. You get a hold of the airport?"

"Uh, not yet," Stu said, quickly digging out his phone. "But I am on it." He glanced to Will. "I think I got most of your stuff packed, but you might wanna do one last look-over of the suite. Phil found one of his shoes in the cistern of his toilet, and Alan found his pants under the sink."

"What the fuck," Will laughed, using her shirt to wipe the last of the tears from her face. "You okay here?" she asked Doug, who just waved a dismissive hand at her. She nodded and turned heel, moving out of the room.

The boys had done a rather good job of tidying what they could. The furniture was straight and sitting as it generally should be, there were no more boas hanging from lightshades, the statues had been de-Elvis-ed, the Jacuzzi was free of sex-dolls and they had managed to scoop most of the rubbish around the place into the small bins, but there was little they could do about the bottles and cans lying about, or the broken televisions and curtains. Or the chicken, she thought as she started at the sight of it, strutting about and clucking like it owned the place.

Where the hell had they got the chicken? She wondered. Apparently, they would never know.

Walking into hers and Stu's room, she was surprised to find Phil zipping up her duffel bag. She hesitated in the doorway as he noticed her. "I think I got everything. Stu found most of it, but your ID was inside a pair of your tights behind the headboard, and I found that book you were reading on the way here in the back of the closet. You made yourself a nice little nest back there last night," he chuckled, holding up the piece of paper with her scribbled warning upon it.

"Too bad I didn't stay there," she mumbled, taking it from him and looking down at it for a moment before folding it up and sliding it into her back pocket.

"You been crying?" he asked, looking at her red eyes and flushed cheeks.

"No," she grumbled.

Phil snorted disbelievingly, but his eyes were sympathetic and he didn't push her. "So," he said, shouldering her bag and moving toward the door. "Did you tell him?"

"Tell him what?" she asked, not moving from the doorway. He stopped before her and she was forced to raise her chin to meet his eyes.

"That we…" he trailed off, lowering his voice and sending her a meaningful look.

"No," she said.

She saw his jaw tighten. "No?"

"Not yet."

He nodded, not looking at her, "Hmm."

Her brow creased, "Why?"

"Oh, just curious," he shrugged. He shook his head, his voice too perfectly casual as he stepped forward to pass her. "It doesn't matter."

She had her hand on his front, stopping him before she knew she was going to. They both froze at the contact, and it took a moment of her staring at her hand on the solid plain of his chest, feeling him warm and alive and breathing beneath her touch, before she drew the courage to raise her eyes to meet his stare.

He was closer now, so close that she could feel the hot air on her brow as he exhaled, could feel his warmth exuding from his tall, solid form on her skin, raising goosebumps on her flesh, under her shirt, on her thighs, and her mind was filled with the scent of him, warm and rich and smooth, and all she could think of for one long, heated moment was the memory of his kisses, long ago, warm and silky and tasting of sugar and cinnamon.

She drew a long breath, shaking with some indistinguishable emotion. "Look," she murmured. "I just want to get him sorted before I worry about us."

"What's there to worry about?" he asked, his face soft and his eyes sparkling as his free hand rose to wrap his fingers gently around hers where it rested on his chest. She felt him move it, sliding across the rise and fall of his muscular torso until he held her hand over his heart.

Her breath was stolen from her as she felt his heart quicken beneath her touch, his own breath catching in his chest as everything in him seemed to pull toward her as she was equally drawn toward him. Their gaze was fixed upon each other, and for the first time she felt their connection, that which had been lost and found, purely and wholly, without the distraction of a lost brother and a consequent darkness looming overhead. There was nothing but he and she; Phil and Will. Together. And it felt right.

Terrifying. But _right._

And then her eyes fell to the scab on his lip. The place where it had split and bled and now had begun to heal.

She had _hit_ him.

"As much as we all enjoy watching you dry hump each other with your eyes…" Stu called from the other room, holding his phone to his ear. "We do have a wedding to get to."

"Right," Will nodded, blinking and stepping aside to let Phil pass. He didn't let go of her hand as he stepped from her room, and she walked beside him as he carried out her bag and they joined Stu by the front door.

"You got everything?" Stu asked, rubbing his eyes under his glasses, phone still to his ear, apparently on hold.

"Yeah," Will nodded. "Think so."

"Hey, Doug," Phil greeted as he emerged from the room, shuffling along in hotel slippers, holding his bag out in front of him. "How's it going?"

Doug made a pained sound, grimacing as he shifted uncomfortably in his robe, the material though soft, still clearly causing him discomfort. "Not great."

"You'll feel better soon," Will promised, wincing sympathetically and stepping forward to take his bag from him, slinging it over her shoulder. "Keep drinking, and I'll give you some more painkillers once we get down to the car."

Her trusty, though near-empty plastic bag of pills was scrunched in the front pocket of her jeans, bulky and uncomfortable, but more helpful than anything else she had brought along with her this entire trip. She was entirely unwilling to just pocket the few small packets left and throw the bag away. It was strange the things that one could become attached to.

"Hey, where's Alan?" Phil asked, peering around for the indeed missing man. His gaze settled questioningly on the harried Stu, who shrugged.

"What? I don't know—"

"I thought you were watching him—"

"I was on the phone, why weren't _you_ watching him—?"

The door to the villa burst open and they turned to see Alan, pink cheeked and slightly out of breath hurry in, pushing a wheelchair in front of him.

"Hey, guys," he greeted, as they gaped at him. "Doug, I got you this."

"Oh, wow," Doug said, not looking too grateful.

"Yeah, good thinking," Phil nodded, shouldering his own bag and grabbing hold of Stu's suitcase.

"Thanks, Alan," Doug winced, "but I really don't need—"

"Just get in the damn chair, Doug," Phil snapped without malice. Doing a final check of the room as Doug sighed and did as was ordered, Phil asked, "Alright, does everybody have everything?"

"Oh, wait a sec," Will said, moving over to Phil and quickly unzipping and digging through her bag. She pulled out a floppy sunhat, complete with drawstring and went to her brother and planted it on his head. "There," she smirked.

"Nice," Doug chuckled, straightening it. "Do I look sexy?"

She tightened the drawstring and patted the top of his hat, "As always."

"Alright, people," Phil said, herding them toward the door, looking ridiculous carrying two bags and a suitcase. "Let's move it. Go, go, go."

They filed out, one by one, Stu chattering into the phone as Alan struggled with his bag and Will pushed her brother along in the wheelchair. Phil brought up the rear, and closed the door to their villa for the last time.

"Adios, hotel room," Doug sighed tiredly from his seat in the wheelchair, waving his bottle behind him.

Will snorted, "And good fucking riddance."

/

"What about the one after that? You cannot be serious!" Stu glared at his phone, snapping it shut. "Oh, goddamn it!"

"What?"

Stu threw up his hands as they hurried down the ramp at the front of Caesar's Palace. "Every flight to LA is booked."

"What about in the Burbank?" Phil asked, his hand brushing Will's lower back as he walked beside her, his other hand on the handle of the wheelchair closest to him, helping her push her brother along and keep the chair steady.

"Totally sold out."

"Oh, fuck!" Phil snapped, looking at his watch, glaring at everything. "We can't drive there, the wedding starts in three and a half hours!" They approached the road and the luggage cart holding their bags. Alan Garner, in his fresh white shirt and oversized blue jeans, leaned against it, the picture of unconcern. "Alan!" Phil bellowed, "Where's the car?"

"It's on its way," Alan told him, watching as they stopped in front of him, Phil leaning down to put on the breaks on the chair while Will, concerned at the sight of her brother trying and failing to bring the opening of the bottle to his lips, knelt at his side and adjusted his hat and robe, thankful for the shadow the hotel threw over them in the morning sun. Stu had bought him a second bottle of water, and no doubt they would have to buy another before the trip was done, but it was enough for now.

Stu, in his sweat-stained orange shirt, his skin crusted with pale dirt huffed determinedly. "You know what?" he said, "We _can_ drive there. We can make it." Will and Phil shared a doubtful look. Phil shook his head and stood, moving to lean heavily against the railing nearby as Will stayed by her brother, gently patting his pale leg.

"Okay?" Stu asked, and then stopped as a familiar head of red hair caught his eye. "Oh."

Glancing over her shoulder, Will saw Jade in a flattering white dress and her usual stripper-heels sitting on a bench not too far away. Their unlikely friend, and Stu's impossible wife, gave a little wave, and Will turned back to see Stu hesitating. Nodding her head in Jade's direction, Will looked at her oldest friend, "Go on, then."

A moment's hesitation more, an inner conflict, and then, "Just give me one second."

"Short and sweet," she suggested, and he nodded as he moved off.

"Who's that?" Doug mumbled.

"His wife."

"Oh."

Alan and Phil stood and squinted at Stu, each with one hand on their hip as they watched him jog off in Jade's direction. "We will leave without you!" Phil called after his friend, but Stu only waved over his shoulder. Phil scoffed, looking down the driveway for their car. Doug didn't look any less confused or disoriented.

"Is he missing a tooth?" he asked, staring at their friend as he spoke to the red-headed beauty.

"Yeah," Alan cackled. Phil shook his head, but couldn't help but chuckle. He made a sound in the back of his throat as the car pulled up, the valet hardly out of the car before Phil had shoved a $20 in his hand and snatched the keys from him, brushing off the boy's thanks with a dismissive wave. He popped the trunk and quickly threw their bags inside before he made quick work of putting down the tattered and bent rag top.

"Were you guys holding hands?"

Will started a little at the question posed to her and she shifted guiltily as she rose to her feet, brushing off her dusty knees.

"What? Uh, yeah," she cleared her throat awkwardly. "What about it?"

Doug squinted at her and scoffed, "What do you mean, 'what about it'?"

She ignored the question as she took the bottle from his lap and threw it into the car before curling an arm around his own and helping him to his feet. "Just get in the car," she grumbled. Doug didn't look pleased. He looked even less so when he finally drew his attention to the Mercedes.

"What the hell happened?" Doug said, sounding properly dismayed as Will helped him from the wheelchair and nodded for him to climb over the window and into the back.

"Get in," she ordered, and he sighed dramatically before just doing as she asked. She knew he was too exhausted to even argue.

As Doug righted himself in the back seat, looking in resigned horror at the interior, with Will deciding not to mention that he was sitting on the now relatively dried patch of tiger pee, Phil pushed back the rag top until it was folded on the back of the car, and then he came around and slid into the driver's side. Alan huffed discontentedly and pushed at the tattered material, "It needs to go down," he insisted to an impatient Phil.

"It's good," Phil huffed, putting the keys in the ignition. "Get in."

"No," Alan shook his head, pushing on the top, trying to get it into its proper folded position. "Safety first."

Phil threw up his hands, snapping, "Get in. Alan, it's fine. It's down."

"No," Alan said, moving around the back of the car, trying to push at the other side, but making no progress. "I gotta get it down first."

"Jesus Christ!" Phil snarled, standing suddenly on the seat and bounding over the back seat to stand on the folded roof. "Look out." Doug leaned forward cautiously as Phil began to stamp and stomp at the corners, bending the already bent metal with brutal force, pushing it into the confines of the car.

Alan stumbled back into Will, shaking his head and wincing, "Don't mess the car up," he cried as Phil jumped up and down on the rag top. "You're gonna mess the car up," he sighed, throwing up his hands unhappily.

"The car's already fucked, Al," Will said, throwing a leg over the side and clambering over her grumbling brother to settle in the seat beside him. "Just get in."

He sighed dejectedly as Phil finished his work, the roof completely down. "There," he snapped, setting back over the top of the seats before falling down into the driver's side, glancing in the rear-view mirror at Will, before he turned the key in the ignition and the car roared to life.

At the sound, Alan wasted no more time and quickly dove into the passenger side.

Phil stood once more and leaned over the windscreen, banging a flat hand on the battered glass, calling out impatiently, "Stu!"

Will watched as Alan climbed to his feet and copied Phil's exact stance, banging on the glass as Phil had and parroting, "Stu!"

"Come on!"

"Come on!"

Will shook his head as Phil shot Alan a dry look.

They watched Stu and Jade hug, the tall, lanky man and the small, beautiful woman, each with a grin on their face, and Will shifted curiously as Stu scampered toward them. Phil tapped the wheel as he reached them. "Alright, here we go," Stu said, jogging around the opposite side.

"Alright, let's go," Phil grumbled, shifting the gears.

"Yeah," Stu said, jumping the side and all but throwing himself into the seat beside Will. She let out a cry as he pretty much landed on her, in the same moment Phil drove off, and she was crushed beneath her friend's weight and was shoved into Doug, who swore loudly and shoved her the other way as she shoved at Stu, who struggled to right himself, his long legs tangling.

"Careful!" Doug snarled once they had composed themselves and were all sitting in generally the proper spot.

"Fuckin' Stu," Will grumbled, sending the man a foul look, who returned it with a haughty roll of his eyes.

They pulled out of Caesar's Palace, past the hedges and the fountains and the statues, and then they were on the road, driving through traffic lights, beneath white bridges and giant billboards and in the shadow of enormous hotels and tall, green palm trees. Another few turns they were on the highway, and the tall buildings fell away behind them and ahead was the longest, straightest road Will had ever seen, stretching far out into the flat, dry plains of the Mojave desert, and even further than that, she could see the mountains beneath the sky.

And then they passed a sign they had been asleep while passing on the way in, that read 'Drive Carefully. Come Back Soon.' And Will looked over her shoulder as they passed it and read 'Welcome to Fabulous Las Vegas Nevada,' on the other side and she could not help but sneer, raise a hand and hold her middle finger high to the city that had tried to kill and ruin each and every one of them in the most unbelievably spectacular of ways.

"Fuck you, Vegas," she spat, as the buildings shrank into the distance, and the desert surrounded them. And to this, she heard her brother's laugh, coarse and exhausted, but present and alive, and her hand fell as she turned to look at him with her eyes full of love and her heart full of thanks and her mind fixing the promise that never in a million, trillion years, would they ever, _ever _go back to that place where she had very nearly lost her brother, along with herself.

"So," Doug called over the whistling of the wind, and they all straightened at hearing it. "Would anyone mind telling me what the hell happened back there?"

The reluctant wince was mutual.

/

Phil drove like a madman.

And for the first time in a very long time, it did not cause Will to experience any sort of fear or panic. In fact, she barely noticed a thing.

They were about an hour outside of LA. Alan had managed to convince Stu to borrow his phone for some godforsaken reason and was quietly chatting away on it, and they had just finished telling Doug a rather messy and yet still quite abbreviated version of the events which had transpired before and after he had become trapped on the roof. He sat quietly beside her, sipping occasionally at his second water bottle, clearly deep in his thoughts, no doubt going over the plethora of information he had been given, trying to make proper sense of it all.

Alan hung up the phone and returned it to Stu, looking quite smug for whatever reason, and Will mourned the car radio. The sun beat down overhead, bright enough to make them squint, even behind their reacquired glasses, and the wind that whipped past was hot and harsh, smelling and tasting of car fuel and sand. Will drooped against Stu's shoulder, ignoring the crusted dust scratching her cheek or the smell of his sweat where it stained his shirt. She was so sore and tired that even with the smell and the heat and the pain and the remarkably uncomfortable position of being pressed between two men in an undersized car seat, she felt she could sleep for days.

"Well," Doug sighed, his voice waking her tired mind. "At least the trip wasn't a total disaster."

"What makes you say that?" Alan asked, turning to look at him from the front seat. Will raised her head from Stu's shoulder to squint at her brother as he pressed against her lightly in his effort to pull something from his shorts pocket.

"When I woke up on the roof," Doug said, with a strange, excited tone to his voice. "I happened to find $80,000 worth of Bellagio chips in my pocket."

Every pair of eyes went wide, all jaws dropped and cries of astonishment and delight filled the dry air as Doug held the pile of chips high, his burnt, cracked lips breaking into a great, bright smile as his friends yelled in excitement, looking around to see it with their own eyes.

"Oh!" Stu exclaimed, laughing joyously. "Oh, my god!"

"Looks like we're going home with some money, boys," Doug grinned.

Will could only laugh as Stu and Phil punched the air, screaming at the sky in victory. She met her brother's eye as he tucked their winnings back into his pocket and smiled happily at her, and she smiled happily back and she knew that even if they didn't make it back in time and the wedding was cancelled and Tracy yelled and screamed and cried at them all for the rest of their days for ruining her big day, that it would be okay.

Attention was drawn to a loud horn tooting incessantly and coming up fast. Will and the others looked about in confusion and concern as a large white van with the words 'The Tux Shop' across the side pulled up beside them and kept pace.

"Here he comes! That's him!" Alan shouted excitedly and they laughed at the realisation that Alan had, for once, managed to think ahead when none of them had even put any thought into it. Of course they wouldn't have enough time to get changed, on top of everything else. But how had Alan managed something as insane as this? She didn't know too many places who delivered literally on the go.

They blinked as one as the side door of the van opened and a long haired and impressively beared man grinned at them from the dark inside. A cheer went up at the sight of him and at the general realisation of what Alan had done. In the passenger seat, Alan crawled onto his knees and waved excitedly, "Hey, Nico!"

"Hey, what's up, Alan?" the man, Nico, called, and then without further ado, he pulled out a large brown parcel wrapped in string and threw it into Stu's outreached hands. Stu was lucky to have caught it in his surprise, and he quickly handed it off to Alan before turning, ready to catch another.

"Whoa," Nico laughed, pointing ahead, "look out!"

Phil swore as he saw a car coming up fast ahead of them, and he swerved around it. Will clutched the seat and Doug clutched her as Alan cackled uproariously at their near hit.

"Jesus," Will breathed as Phil straightened and smoothed them out, and they were beside the tuxedo van once more.

Stu laughed with equal amounts of excitement and nerves as he rose once more in his seat and reached out his hands to catch the final large parcel, passing it to Will as he shook Nico's hand.

"Thanks, Nico!" Alan called, above their shouts of gratitude and awe as the van slowed and gradually fell behind.

"You got it!" Nico yelled, leaning almost all the way out of the side door and raising his thumb to the sky, an enormous grin on his face as Alan waved enthusiastically to his shrinking form. "Page me! Adios!" And then the van fell far behind and they were speeding down the highway once more.

"Who the hell was that guy?" Stu asked, sitting back down in his seat.

"That's my buddy," was all Alan offered as an answer.

Phil pulled over next chance he had and they piled out of the car, Stu ripping open the parcels as Alan opened the trunk and they passed out pants and white shirts and suit jackets and argued and swapped and changed articles of clothing to find which fitted who best. Will stood and stretched her legs off to the side, wondering how the hell she would find time to change into her bridesmaid dress, and figured that she would just have to suck it up and suffer the embarrassment of attending her own brother's wedding in jeans, converse and a shirt when she heard Stu call out in confusion. "Do we have an extra pair of pants?"

"No," Alan replied, snatching them from his hands, looking at him as if the very question were absolutely ridiculous, clearly oblivious of the fact that he had, a moment previous, removed his pants and was now standing roadside in just a white shirt, underwear and socks. "These are Will's."

Phil, who stood shirtless, and Doug, who was in the process of buttoning all the wrong buttons on his shirt, looked at him, Will stared, and all failed to comprehend as Alan scooted around in his underwear, picking up the indeed apparently extra pair of pants, shirt and jacket, which were much slimmer in build than the others and held them out to her, gazing at her expectedly. "Wait," she stammered. "You want me to wear a suit?"

"Alan," Stu frowned, shrugging on his shirt and struggling with the buttons, "Will's a bridesmaid; she's supposed to wear a dress."

The others nodded their heads in agreement and she saw Alan's self-satisfied confidence falter. He began to retract his offering, and without a moment's hesitation, she stepped forward and plucked the pile of clothing from his hands. "Alright," she nodded, "I'm wearing a suit." And at this, the others shook their head in surprise, and Alan grinned giddily, and they went back to stripping their sweaty, filthy clothes from their sore, bruised bodies and changing into something that was more fitting of such a formal occasion as their best friend and brother's wedding.

Will took several glances at her friends as they changed, and could not but wince at the black and blue splotches and lines that painted their skin. She knew that she looked much the same. The pain of the car-crash and all else otherwise was clear to her even now. But she was exhausted and aching and beyond the point of caring that the love bites left upon her skin were clear to all as she stripped off her shirt and changed her jeans to the smooth cotton and silk blend of the suit pants, and no one seemed to notice the state of her until she was replacing her shirt with the long-sleeved white button up.

There was a low, masculine sound, and suddenly large warm hands took firm hold of her hips from behind and the length of the white shirt was raised and it was the same moment that her lower back was revealed to the man behind her that she remembered why she had hidden it away to begin with. She stiffened and pulled away but it was too late. His hands were so big upon her that he hardly had to release his hold on her in order to run a thumb across the curled writing within the red heart that had been printed upon her lower back. She felt his heat encompass her, felt his breath hot and quick on her neck, felt his strong arms draw her closer with every pass over of his thumb, with every assurance that what he was seeing was real.

And then she was facing him, and those blue eyes burned into hers with a fire unlike she had ever seen. And there, on the side of the highway, half-dressed and with less than no time to spare, Phil Wenneck wrapped an arm around her waist, pulled her firmly against his strong, solid chest, curled his hand around her jaw, raising her face to his, and crushed his mouth to hers.

His tongue surged past her dry lips as they parted in her gasp of surprise and stroked hers with such practice and uncontrolled confidence that her knees buckled beneath her and she felt herself held up by her grip on his broad shoulders and by the tightening of his solid arm around her waist. He took her mouth, ravished it in a way that she had so desperately missed.

Their tongues danced, twisting and twirling and stoking alive the embers of their slumbering passion, their nostrils flaring as they drew breath, unwilling to part for even a moment. He tasted like dirt and salt and the scab of his split lip was rough on her mouth and tasted ever so faintly of the blood she had spilt. But beneath it all she could taste that warm cinnamon, and she could smell it on him, along with his sweat and old cologne.

The taste, the smell, the feel of him overwhelmed her senses. He was everywhere; he touched every part of her. His warm, caressing hands and his all-encompassing presence. She was stunned, dazed, speechless. He was breathtaking, devastating, awe-inspiring. Every aspect of him was perfect, from his face to his body, to his voice, to his touch. She yearned for more, feared it would be too much, and still she could not resist the grand temptation that was the very core of this man.

Her hands stroked his shoulders, felt the solid line of them, and then her hands found the warm curve of his neck and her fingers buried themselves in the thick softness of his ever-perfect hair, tussling and massaging and tugging and pulling herself closer, ever closer. And she felt his hands on her waist, on her back, on her sides, on her face, in her hair, holding her so tightly to him that it almost hurt, and in some places where the bruises were deep, it did, but she did not mind, could not mind as her bones turned to butter and her muscles turned to heat and all that there was was _here _and _now _and _yes _and _Phil Phil Phil Phil!—_

And then he broke away, and they both sucked in the air that they desperately needed, their lips only inches apart, both red and bruised and swollen and wanting more. But with oxygen came thought and with this came the realisation that her brother stood only meters away, alongside Stu and Alan, and they were half-dressed on the side of the highway and they needed to get to LA so that Doug could get married and start his life with Tracy, who would kill them all if they ruined her special day and who Will really couldn't bear to see hurt so because she truly did care for her and what did they think they were doing wasting so much time and they really should get over themselves and get their asses in gear—

But Phil was reluctant to let her go. His grip had eased, become gentle. And he stroked her skin now, in slow, lingering sweeps, his fingers beneath her shirt, tracing the hem of her pants across her hips, his thumbs caressing her hips, the swell of her belly, the curve of her body. They needed to part, to finished getting dressed, to keep driving. But still he held her. She knew she could step away, could back off, keep her head clear and on task, ignore this until it became pertinent at a later date. It had been less than a minute that they stood here, though it had felt like so much longer; so much more than what it had appeared to be. And he should have stepped away from her. He was their leader, the one who kept them on task, kept them moving forward. Yet he lingered now, just to touch her, to feel her in his arms, to be held in her embrace.

_Phil._

She wondered if he had tasted it on her tongue, felt it in her touch. She tried to say it with her eyes. That which she had never truly said, didn't know how to say, was so frightened to admit. Did he know? Surely he must. Surely he must have always known.

_Phil._

Something had changed within her, and yet had remained irrevocably the same. She was the person she had always been and yet now someone entirely different. And all that she had ever been and all that she was and ever would be, she knew as she had always known, belonged completely and absolutely to him.

_Phil._

And surely he _knew._

"That…" he whispered, his voice low and husky and meant only for her, "is a _very _nice tattoo."

His words made her flush, and the terrible mix of excitement, delight and absolute mortification that flared within her gave her the strength to step away. His hands slipped from her waist and she avoided his gaze as she quickly tucked in her shirt and straightened her collar. Glancing over his shoulder, she knew that the others had definitely laid witness to their swift but thorough make-out session. Stu appeared amused, Alan weirdly thoughtful, and Doug kept glancing over with a vaguely constipated look, as if he couldn't decide whether to laugh or tease or be disgusted or walk over here and tear the two apart and no doubt give Phil a what-for.

But there was no more time to dwell on the memory of what had just transpired, or notice the delightfully, dangerously heated looks Phil was sending her that she had no idea how to respond to, or how she would even like to respond, as they changed quickly, tugging on the proper pants and grabbing their jackets and throwing the rest in the trunk of the car. It was with no further discussion amongst anyone that they returned to their seats, the trunk was slammed shut, the car was started and they continued their race to LA.

/

They reached the suburbs. Phil was tying his tie while driving, his aviators and his hair, impossibly back in place, looking heartbreakingly handsome even covered in a thin layer of dirt and with a split and vaguely swollen lips, both of which she had caused. Stu was lying almost on top of her, his bony shoulders stabbing her as he struggled to tug his socks onto his feet. Alan was adjusting his pants, which he had apparently put on backwards and so had had to adjust. Will, tie hanging undone around her neck, was tugging a brush through her knotted hair, while tugging on her converses – because as brilliant as Alan's plan had been, he had overlooked the fact that she had no black shoes – while Doug quickly shaved with an electronic razor he had taken from his bag.

They were close now. She saw the hospital she worked at and for a moment didn't recognise it. It seemed so long ago now since she had signed out at the end of her shift and hurried out the doors to get to that final dress fitting. And now, of course, she wasn't even wearing the damn dress.

But she recognised these streets. That café. That park. That overpass.

And then they were at the end of the driveway to the Garner's enormous mansion, and there were dozens of cars parked alongside the beautiful gardens, and at the far end of the rows she could see her old yellow Vespa, sitting faithfully more or less where she had left it. She tied her tie, moments before they stopped. She and her boys piled out of the car, quickly checking each other, straightening collars, adjusting ties, brushing off shoulders, as they ran toward the house.

They stormed up the stairs, pressed against the white wood of the Garner's front door and burst through nearly at once. Together, they froze as they were confronted by the sight on the other side. The entire bridal party sat, looking frustrated or bored or absolutely desolate, and then perfectly stunned as the groom, his sister in a suit, and his groomsmen, made their sudden arrival. Tracy sat in the middle of it all, Sid on one side, Linda on the other, each holding a perfectly manicured hand, looking absolutely gorgeous in her strapless wedding dress, her low ponytail swept over one shoulder, held by what appeared to be nothing but flowers.

"Hey," Stu puffed, greeting all on their behalf. "Sorry, MapQuest took us on a really crazy route." They grinned sheepishly, still straightening ties and jackets and tucking in shirts at the back.

All looked surprised, then relieved, then mildly or less than mildly infuriated, but no more was said on the matter before they were swept up in madness as all were called to prepare the ceremony, the bridal party was lined up, groom to bridesmaid, with Doug in the lead. They were herded to the doors, many foul or confused looks were sent Will's way as she found herself at the end of the line, standing beside Phil – of course –, in her matching suit. It did not seem she had time to speak a word to Phil or anyone else, to form a coherent thought or make the realisation that it was _over_, that they had actually made it, or even take a breath, before the music started, and the wedding – her little brother's wedding – began at last.


	14. The Precipice

And then it was over.

Doug Billings was married to Tracy Garner, roughly two and a half hours later than planned, but successfully all the same. The wedding was beautiful. Everyone cried. And anyone who said they didn't was a dirty liar. The reception was held in the back gardens, which were similar to both the side gardens and front gardens except that they were about triple the size, with four separate established sitting areas, three levels of the greenest grass anyone ever saw, and an enormous pool of clear, blue water at the bottom.

There was a buffet, with more food than even the hundreds of guests present could eat, and consisting of ingredients that Will had never even heard of, let alone seen put together. The cake was about a hundred tiers and likely cost more than Will earnt in most part of a year. There was a live band and many enormous bunches of flowers in extraordinary expensive looking vases situated about the place, and waiters carried trays of champagne to the guests or otherwise directed them to the open bar just inside the patio.

And this is where Wilma Billings – or now, more correctly, Wilma _Wenneck_ – found herself.

She had been interrogated, unsuccessfully by the bridesmaids. Some of them were angry that she had been invited to the bachelor party in the first place. Some were outraged that she dare arrive so late to her brother's wedding—and in a suit no less!—never mind the fact that she had arrived late _with _her brother, and not in spite of him. While others were absolutely incensed at the fact that during the entire ceremony, Phil Wenneck had stared at her almost ceaselessly with a look of such delicious hunger that it made the other girls tremble at just the sight of it.

So, of course, she had slipped away, both from the bridesmaids, from her friends, and from Phil, and had hidden herself in the darkest, furthest corner of the barroom, hidden amongst the sea of men in suits similar both in shape and colour to her own, and here she meant to stay for the duration of the night and more or less drink herself into a stupor.

It was the only thing that made sense, really, after all that she had been through. Thinking back on it even now, it hardly seemed real. It was a fantastic story of mystery and lost children and dangerous gangs and forgotten weddings and mistaken identity, not to mention the occasional celebrity and wild animal to incite danger and cause mischief. And all that without even any mention of her own personal melodrama of past tragedy, current trauma and love long lost apparently found once more.

She had forgotten how badly whiskey burned.

How had everything changed within so little time? Less than three days ago, she had despised Phil Wenneck for what he had done to her. And since then, they had flirted, kissed, embraced, and not to mention gotten _married. _Not, of course, that she remembered _that_ particular event. But worst of it all, she supposed, was that he now knew essentially all there was to know about her. She had revealed herself as she had been at her lowest. She had told him of her darkest moments, and he had listened.

And did she regret it now?

She supposed not. But that didn't mean that everything was suddenly going to be quite alright. Three days was not enough time to heal someone quite so thoroughly broken as herself. She had barely slept, barely eaten, and had been terrified for her brother's life. Now that was all past. It was over.

Of course, now that she had the time, she hardly wanted it. What was there to consider? Perhaps the inevitable and imminent departure of her little brother from the majority of aspects of her life? Her home, her mornings, her evenings, her nights. No longer would he be there when she arrived home, ready to cook a meal or watch a show or play a video game. Instead, he would be with his wife, in their home, watching television on their couch, and she would be left with what? Loneliness? Despair?

Or perhaps she could consider the ridiculous instability and confusion that was her relationship with Phil Wenneck? Her ex-lover, now her husband. He had hurt her so thoroughly, and yet now he tells that he regrets it acutely and promises that he loves her, that he would never leave her. Could she trust him? Would she dare? Should she even bother taking the risk, or making the effort? Perhaps it would be best if she had the marriage annulled right away. Then there would be no obligations to see if they could 'work this out', whatever it was 'this' actually was.

Wilma sighed deeply and took a long drink.

Perhaps it would be best if she left. It would be a first, for sure. Considering that the common theme of all her troubles and fears was that of abandonment and trust regarding the coming and going of people she cared for and whom had promised that they would stay, it would be an interesting change for it to be Will herself who left.

Before Doug could move out of their home and leave her, maybe she could first leave him; beat him to it. Would that avert the heartbreak to him and let him suffer the loss that she might otherwise feel if she stayed and he went? Likewise, before Phil had the chance to prove correct her fears that he was either confused or misguided or desperate or simply malicious in intent of her, she might leave him; cut ties and leave for a place far away where he and she would never meet again.

Averting the pain to those she loved, and running away. As if either of these things would help anything.

She chuckled bitterly into her glass of dark alcohol, feeling fully its effects, knowing that if she finished this next glass, she would not make it consciously through the rest of the night. After some careful deliberation she sighed despondently, took a final sip of the burning liquid and then pushed the glass away, wavering slightly on her stool and having to firmly grip the bar to steady herself.

She thought to make a break for it then; stumble up to some private guest room or perhaps even down the street to a bus and find her way to her proper home, but it was incredible that anyone had yet to find her here. Such chance. Or perhaps fate. Was she destined to be alone and sit alone and die alone? Or was this a product of her messed up psyche and thus all, in reality, a consequence of her own doing? A self-fulfilling prophecy?

With a small groan, she crossed her arms on the bar and hid her face within them, hoping that all would forget her and leave her there to suffer and sleep. Or that some angel or will-o-the-wisp or other manifestation of fate or destiny might appear to her and simply tell her what is real and what must be done; what is the right path and what is expected of her to do.

In truth, all she wished to do now was sleep.

Well, that and forget. Forget how close she had come to losing her brother and how close she had come to losing herself. Forget how she had been aggressive to the stupid, moronic but childishly naïve Alan, and how she had been physically violent against Phil, who had only wished to comfort and help, at least at that one particular moment.

She had seen the result of that violence upon his beautiful face and it disgusted her. She had tasted the blood she had shed when she had kissed him, though how he could let her touch him after striking him so was beyond her. How could he possibly have forgiven her, without any mentioning of the matter?

She certainly couldn't. And she wouldn't.

Her entire body was heavy. Thrumming with alcohol and pain. Her last few painkillers were in the car, in the pocket of her jeans. She was so tired. No one would bother her here. She could just sleep.

Sleep was good.

"Stu. What the _fuck_ is going on?!"

"We went to Las Vegas."

"Oh, really? Las Vegas?"

"Yep."

"Why would _you _go to Las Vegas?"

"Because my best friend was getting married and that's what guys do!"

Will raised her head at once. Both in astonishment and absolute disbelief because what she was seeing was not quite plausible: Stuart Price stood at a nearby table, beside an awkward looking Alan, and he was actually standing up for himself. Against his psychopathic, controlling, abusive girlfriend no less!

Melissa, with her red hair, pointed nose, thin glasses and painfully sensible dress sneered viciously at Stu, "_Really?_"

"Yeah."

"Well, that's not what _you_ do!" she snarled, jabbing his shoulder with a hard finger, so hard it actually forced him back a step. Everything dark and protective in Will flared to life and she sat up in her stool, one observing face amongst many as the quarrel between the couple quickly escalated. Will ground her teeth and told herself not to intervene. This was the first time Stu had actually spoken up against this tyrant. This was history in the making. But by god, Will would die before she allowed her dearest friend to be treated like shit by _anyone._

"Really?" Stu said. "Well, then why did I _do it_, huh? 'Cause I did it! Riddle me that!" he cried, waving his fingers in her face. A stunned Melissa flinched back as he, for once, was the one to get in her face, to encroach her personal bubble. "Why'd I do it? Y'know, sometimes I think all you want me to do is what you want me to do."

At this Melissa laughed darkly, snarling a smile and nodding along with his words, mocking his every emotion, his very person, his very _being. _It made Will sick to see such blatant disregard and disrespect from someone who actually dared claim to _love _him.

"I'm sick of doing what you want me to do all the time," Stu went on, "I think in a healthy relationship, sometimes a guy should be able to do what he wants to do."

"_That is not how this works!" _Melissa screeched, making even Will jump at the sheer volume of it.

At the sound, the band fell quiet, and every person in the vicinity turned to watch in outrage, offended disbelief or thinly veiled excitement and interest, as the now assuredly ex-couple fought, loudly.

"Oh, good!" Stu yelled right back, gesticulating wildly. "Because whatever _this_ is ain't working for me!"

"Oh, really?" Melissa scoffed.

"Yeah!"

"Since _when_?" she demanded.

"Since you _fucked_ that waiter on your cruise last June," he declared loudly, and pounded a victorious fist on the table, "_Boom!_"

Melissa looked absolutely shocked. There were sniggers, whispers and thoroughly judgemental looks from every side. Will almost felt sorry for her. Almost.

"You told me it was a bartender," Alan commented thoughtfully.

"Oh, you're right," Stu said, pointing and nodding to Alan. "I stand corrected. It was a bartender." He looked at Melissa with all the dry sarcastic sass that he possessed. "You fucked a bartender."

He was a marvellous sight.

"You're an idiot," Melissa snarled.

"You're a... You..." Stu stammered and stopped himself, not wanting to fall to her level. He groaned, frustrated, leaning against the table, squinting and looking at the red-head with such contempt and disgust, Will was astonished she didn't fall dead on the spot. "You're such a bad person. Like, all the way through to your core." And to that, Melissa had nothing to say.

Stu smacked the table and turned away, effectively dismissing her. "Alan, shall we dance?" he asked, patting his unlikely friend's arm. Then, without a single glance more to his psycho ex, Stu turned and marched toward the dancefloor, where Doug and Tracy, as well as Phil, waited with enormous smiles and open arms. "Let's do this!" he cried.

Meanwhile, Alan had deemed it necessary to attempt to trade pleasantries with the bitch herself. "It was a real pleasure meeting you."

"Fuck off," Melissa snapped.

Alan was not dissuaded, and as Will slipped from her stool, grabbing her unfinished glass, and slowly made her way through the crowd, she almost giggled to hear Alan continue, "I was thinking about getting my bartender's license."

Melissa looked absolutely repulsed, "Suck my dick."

Alan narrowed his eyes at her, and in the most polite of tones, he answered, "No, thank you." Then he turned and followed Stu's path to the dancefloor.

Melissa didn't move, even after he had gone, and Will wondered if she were going to cry, or if she were plotting their deaths. With Melissa, it could be either, or both, one could never really tell.

Will approached and stopped in the place where Stu had stood, and Melissa's glare, if possible, further darkened upon seeing her. Placing her glass on the table but keeping a hand on it, she considered Melissa with a cheery smile, clicking her tongue and wincing a nod toward Stu where he now danced and laughed with Doug, Alan and Phil.

"Well, that was certainly a long time coming."

"Oh, please, spare me, Mrs. High and Mighty," Melissa scoffed."Everyone knows you're nothing but Phil's little _whore_. I bet you opened your slut legs for Stu too, didn't you? I wouldn't be surprised, he always did have such bad taste."

"That's rich," Will laughed, taking a casual sip from her drink, "Coming from the woman who couldn't remain faithful for more than a _month_." She raised her brows at the spiteful, hateful, bitter red head. "Did Stu mention that he was going to ask you to marry him? He spent the entire weekend gushing about it. Thought you were the love of his life." She laughed. "That you managed to screw _that _up, considering how he idealised you, is a testament to how much of an abhorrent, abusive slut you really are."

Melissa's face hardened, tightened, a snarl ripped across her otherwise pleasant features, her lip curling over her teeth as she stepped forward and hissed, "You're in love with him, aren't you? This is _your_ fault. You turned him against me! What did you do, spend the entire weekend sucking his dick and feeding him lies?"

"Oh, no!" Will shook her head, her eyes dancing with dark amusement. "I'm only open for business Tuesday through Thursday," she joked. "You, on the other hand, I hear are free to anyone with two legs and a working dick."

Melissa's face was red with anger and humiliation, her eyes burned behind her glasses, her hands shook at her side. Will wondered how much effort it took her _not _to strike out and express her anger against her in a way which she was apparently so accustomed. "You _bitch!_"

Will chuckled, a smile on her face and hatred in her eyes as she reminded herself of the disappointing fact that it was technically illegal to beat another human to death. She shook her head at Melissa and sighed, "Better than a physically and verbally abusive, manipulative, lying and unfaithful _whore_. Really, Melissa, you are a piece of work." She tipped her glass toward the red-head, dark liquid sloshing dangerously. "And you deserve every bit of what is coming to you."

"Are you _threatening_ me?" the despicable woman spat.

Will blinked, taking a thoughtful sip of her drink. "Why? Do you _feel _threatened?"

Melissa scowled viciously but lifted her chin in defiance, even as her body shrank away, her arms folding over her chest. "Should I?" she countered.

Will merely raised her brows, "_Do you?_"

There was a long beat or two of silence, and Will could nearly see the cogs in Melissa's twisted brain turning. Will was surprised that she could see it when she had won, even before Melissa stepped away with a sneer and a final, "Fuck you, bitch," before she turned most imperiously on her heel.

Almost disappointed that their vicious little spat had come to an end, Will called after her retreating form, "Goodbye, Melissa. You take care of yourself." Then her tone was dangerous, ominous, promising, even as she smiled and shrugged a wave. "It's a scary world out there."

And the last Will ever saw of Melissa was the flash of fear and hatred behind a thin pair of spectacles and a swirl of red hair as the woman scampered off toward the front door of the Garner's mansion, hopefully never to be seen or heard of again.

Raising her glass in the air, Will murmured to the universe, "Self-fulfilling prophecy, do your stuff." Who knows? Perhaps her own demons might do some good in tormenting another.

And then, looking about, she saw her brother and his friends and his wife dancing to some banal tune played by the band, and when she caught his eye and shared his smile and raised her glass then to him, she saw that he was happy, and they were happy, and it was a good wedding and a good day.

Wilma Wenneck stared into the glass, considered for a long moment, and then finished it in one long gulp.

And then, seeing Phil break from Doug's embrace and head her way, she turned, abandoning the empty glass on a nearby table, and disappeared into the crowd.

/

Good company to a sober person a drunk one did not make.

But it had been a long since Will had really been all that great of company. In any case, she spared any and all the burden of having to suffer any of her company at all, and instead crept into the house, past the security guard whom was tasked with stopping wedding guests exactly like herself from heading toward the upper rooms but who had apparently had quite as many champagnes as she had had whiskey and colas, and who was now chatting up a bridesmaid, and so she did not have to try awfully hard to sneak past.

She stumbled up the staircase, stiff in her suit but comfortable in her converse sneakers. Beneath the grand chandelier, amongst the flowers and the fine paintings, she chuckled to herself as she went, and she made it to the second floor, glancing briefly over the bannister to see a familiar head of tousled hair amongst the crowd, clearly searching for her. After a moment's hesitation, she moved down the hall and headed toward an open door.

Peeking within, she saw that it was Sid's office, and at the desk within sat Sid himself, looking quite preoccupied with something or rather. But at hearing her at the door, he raised his head, and even with his naturally stern and generally unhappy appearance, be managed to look glad to see her.

"Will! Come in, come in!"

She did so, hesitantly stepping into the office where she dimly remembered finding Alan and Doug at their final fittings for their suits. Which they also never got to wear.

"Close the door."

She blinked, finding it difficult a moment to focus on his command before she turned unevenly on the spot, gripped the door and firmly swung it shut. She moved further into the room, barely aware of Sid having sat back in his chair to watch her with amusement as she sauntered forward, her gait unbalanced as she finally made it to the chair in front of his desk and slowly and carefully eased herself into it.

At the sound of Sid's chuckles, she looked up to find him smiling at her in a way that no one had smiled at her in a very long time.

"Taking full advantage of the open bar, I see. Good, that's good. I paid good money for that bar. It makes me happy to see someone in my own family making use of it."

"Yes, sir. It's a good bar."

"That's why I bought it. I didn't see you with the others on the dance floor. You don't like dancing? I paid good money for that band."

"It's a good band."

"Psht. They were awful. That lead singer is a sleezebag. If he wasn't my nephew's son, I'd have him booted out of the industry for good. But, ah, it's family. What are you gonna do?"

He looked at her seriously and a long moment passed between them. Then he looked away, shuffled his papers and cleared his throat a few times. And just as Will's attention began to drift and she found herself lazing back in the chair and looking about at the spines on the books which lined the shelves, settling herself in to sit in comfortable silence with the man, he huffed and removed his glasses from his face.

Slightly startled, she sat up and drew herself to attention as she watched him struggle for a moment, opening and closing his mouth several times, but never appearing flustered. Sid didn't get flustered, as far as she had seen. Everything he did he did in his own time.

"You know, your brother, Doug," he said at last. "He's a good man. He's not rich, and he's not well connected," he shrugged, watching her as he spoke, "but he loves Tracy, he'll take good care of her. And more importantly, she loves him too. And now that they're married, that means he's family, which means, by simple definition, you are family too." He leaned forward, his face and voice earnest, gesturing to himself. "You're my family. You're Linda and Tracy's family. You're Alan's family. You're a part of us."

Will blinked slowly at him, his words registering in her inebriated mind. After a short time, she nodded, "Thanks. Thank you, sir. That, uh…" she cleared her throat. "That means a lot."

He stared a moment and then nodded, leaning back in his chair, looking thoughtful. She wondered what had come over him. Sid Garner was definitely not a sappy man, nor did he like big declarations or talking much in general. In that respect, they usually found common ground. But not today, apparently.

"You know, we've known each other for a long time. Your parents… they were good people. They didn't deserve to go the way they did. And you and your brother didn't deserve to lose them so young. What you kids have gone through is just terrible. But you took care of each other, you looked out for each other, when there was no one else around to do it. That bond between you and Doug is something that no one else will have, something that no one else can ever understand. I mean, you're siblings. You were each other's best friend before you even knew that there even were other kids out there to be friends with!" he chuckled, scratching his chin, watching Will nod and shuffle awkwardly in her seat. "And you know, what you two have, no one else can ever break or replace that.

"I mean, as much as Doug loves Tracy and Tracy loves Doug, Tracy can never be what you are to him," he waved a dismissive hand and shrugged. "I love my daughter, she's my little girl, she's my princess, my world, I'd do anything for her, but she'll never understand what you two have been through, even if you told her a million times.

"And I'm guessing now that it's gonna be very hard," he said, his voice lowering as his eyes softened, "not just for you, but for both of you, because Doug has chosen a different path. And you're not gonna be around each other so much anymore. But that doesn't mean that he's gonna love you any less or need you any less as his sister or as his friend. It just means that you don't need each other to take care of you anymore."

A knot had formed in her throat before she even knew she was upset, and she pursed her lips as her eyes became wet. Will remained very still as she kept a careful reign on her bubbling emotions, while Sid talked on, clearly aware that she was upset, not wanting to be cruel or upset her further, but apparently wanting her to hear this.

"You're adults now," he told her, his voice gentle, "you can take care of yourselves. And when you can't…" he gave her a smile, and she wiped at her cheek and willed herself not to tremble as she breathed. "Well, that's what family are for. That's what I'm here for," he shrugged, sitting back in his chair and saying this like it was nothing. As if there was no question of it.

"I'm here for you. I'm here for Doug. From this day on, whatever your problems, now they're my problems too. I'll look out for you two just as well as I look out for my own children, because you're my family, and it's what I do. It's what I'm good at. I like taking care of the people I care about. That's why I paid for my daughter's wedding," he said, picking up his large, wire-rimmed glasses and sliding them to sit on his large nose. "That's why I'm giving Doug the Mercedes. And that's why I'm giving you your house."

Will wiped at her face and looked at him in utter confusion. "I…What?"

He shrugged, again, like what he were saying wasn't completely ridiculous. "I bought your house this weekend. And if you want to, you are free to live in it, for the rest of your life, without having to worry about mortgage or rates or any sort of bill or payment," he told the simply stunned Will. "You can live there and focus on what you want to do to be happy. Quit your job, travel the world, write a book. I don't care. Do whatever."

All she found she could do was shake her head and blink. She tried to speak, her mouth opening and closing, but she was struck dumb with astonishment. The sight of his slight, amused smile kicked her brain into gear. "Sid, you can't just—"

Sid waved off her protest. "I already did. And don't say it's too much, because I mean, seriously, have you seen the size of that house?" he shook his head, chuckling lowly in wonder. "It's miniscule, I don't know how your entire family managed to fit. But Doug said that's where you belong and where you want to be. If he's wrong, just say the word and I'll find another place—"

"_Sid_," she said, squeezing her eyes shut and massaging them beneath her lids, taking deep breaths. "I'm not okay with you just wasting money on me."

"It's not a waste."

"I can't pay you back," she laughed in frustration, her hands falling to the arms of the chair. "You realise that? I cannot do anything worthwhile to do anything to pay you back this…" she shook her head, "_enormous_ debt you're piling on me."

"You do pay me back," he told her, and she gave him an incredulous look. "You pay me back every time you come here. You paid me back the price of the house alone just this weekend alone. You pay me back every day that you walk into this house and have a conversation with my wife." He threw up his hands in amazement, "God knows, I have no idea how you manage to stomach it for so long, but you do. And it makes her happy. She loves you for it."

Will sat back in her chair at this, feeling all the more choked up. To hear that Linda, the expensive, soft-handed, red-headed woman; the woman who had the terrible habit of hugging her each time they saw one another, and calling her Wilma, supposedly _loved _her, was a shock. She couldn't remember ever being especially nice to the woman, only patiently accommodating. Linda, like Alan, did love the sound of her own voice. But she wasn't a terrible person. But to _love _her? Will could hardly believe it.

"You pay me back every time you're kind to my son," Sid continued, shaking his head now, at the thought of Alan. "He's a loser. He's annoying. He's got no friends at all and it's no mystery why. But you're nice to him. You took care of him and helped insist that he come with you and Doug to Vegas and you took care of him while you were there."

Will hoped he didn't notice the guilt on her face at that, and evidently he did not, as he spoke on, "He had a great time. He's happier now than I've seen him in years. And you know what that means? He's not causing trouble for me. Coming in here and touching my things," he grumbled, waving a hand, "and pissing me off with his bullshit stories. God, he's annoying," he sighed, rubbing his forehead.

"But you understand what I'm saying, don't you?" he asked, looking up at her. "You don't have to do anything to pay me back. You do it just by being yourself. You make me happy by being you, and who you are is someone who makes my family happy. It's just a loop of happiness, you see?" he twirled a finger in the air, tracing an invisible circle. "I'm happy when you're happy, and I'm happy when my wife and son are happy and not bothering me. You like them enough to want them to be happy, don't you?"

"Yeah," Will nodded. "Of course I do."

"Right. So, we want the same things," he smiled, and she marvelled that his eyes and mouth could look so happy, while his brows continued to frown. "And if you do feel unhappy about wanting to pay me back, all you have to do is pay my wife a visit and spend even half a day with her," he chuckled, "and know that by doing that you've paid off at least six months' worth of whatever it is you think you owe."

Will collapsed back in her chair, and just looked at him. _"Why?"_

"Why what?"

She threw up her hands. "Why spend all that money on _me?"_

"To tell the truth, your house was probably the cheapest thing I've purchased in the last year," he told her, waving a hand toward the door, "what with all this wedding stuff. But you know, it was Doug who came to me and asked me to buy it for you."

"Doug? Doug told you to buy our—my house?" She shook her head at the idea of her fiercely independent little brother, who had always been so passionate about earning his own way in the world, asking Sid to buy the house. "Why would he do that?"

"Imagine how you'd feel if you were him," Sid said. "You think he doesn't see how much his moving out is going to affect you? Of course he does! He's your brother. And he wants to do good by you and do the best he can, and in this instance, this was his best. That boy loves you."

"I know he does," she murmured.

Will couldn't say anything more even if she wanted to. She slunk down in her chair and wiped at her cheeks and just stared at the roof for a long while, wanting to do nothing more than cry and find Doug and hug him and yell at him and curl up _anywhere _and sleep.

Sid shuffled in his chair, scratching his nose and gazing distractedly at the papers spread out before him on his desk, picking up his pen. And for a while he worked in silence while she sat lost in her exhausted and stunned thoughts. Then, once a good deal of time had passed, she heard him put down his pen and clear his throat.

"So, how was your trip?" he asked, and she slowly raised her head to look at him. "Doug said you all got yourselves into a good bit of trouble. Anything terribly exciting?"

Blinking at him, through eyes that were red from tears and fatigue, her words were mumbled and thick as she rubbed at her face, "Phil and I got married."

"Married!" he cried, honestly shocked, but highly amused all the same. "Well, congratulations I suppose."

"Thanks," she sighed, letting her head rest back on the chair. "Stu got married too. We met his wife. She's nice, but not exactly what he imagined."

Sid chuckled, leaning forward eagerly. "How so?"

"Well, she had a kid, for one," Will shrugged, and then laughed slightly. "And she's a hooker."

"My, my, my," Sid grinned, apparently not scandalised in the least. "Doug really wasn't kidding."

"That honestly wasn't even almost the worst of it," she snickered dryly.

"You have to promise that you'll tell me someday. In a couple weeks, when enough time has passed that you can look back on it all and laugh."

"I don't know when that'll be, but sure, I promise."

"Good," Sid nodded. "Now, I want you to march yourself straight to the guest room and get yourself some sleep. You look like shit."

Will laughed as she got to her unsteady feet, holding the back of her chair as she looked at him. "Thank you, Sid. Just… thank you."

"You never have to thank me, Will," he told her, playing with his glasses, his eyes sparkling under his eternal scowl. "But you're welcome." She nodded and headed to the door, stopping when he called after her. "By the way," he said, with a finger gun and a wink, "love the suit."

/

With a loosened tie, Will fell into the plush guestroom bed with a moan, only managing to untie one converse and half-kick it off her foot before she felt her mind tumble and fall into the still dark bliss of sleep.

It felt only a heartbeat later than she was awakened by the movement of the bed. Blinking blearily, she sluggishly lifted her head, her face half-buried in the soft pillow, her arms crossed beneath. Hair was in her eyes and the room was dark, she having apparently missed the sunset and likely the rest of the reception. But she could see in the shadows, the figure of a man sitting on the edge of the guest bed where she slept. He was hunched over, grunting slightly as he removed his shoes, and then his suit jacket, throwing it carelessly to the floor.

Then, quietly, she supposed, he eased himself onto his back beside her, and in the moonlight that streamed dimly through the wide, open window, she saw the shine of his tousled hair and the line of his jaw. Will rested her weary head on the pillow and watched him, seeing him lay still, simply breathing, staring at the roof, and she wondered if he even knew she were here. She would have watched him forever, if her eyes hadn't drifted closed, her breaths evening out as she fell back to sleep.

When she woke again, her shoes had been removed from her feet, and she was beneath the covers. Her jacket was tight around her shoulders so she shrugged it off, pushing it from the edge of the bed and sighing at the freedom from it. A large hand splayed across her back, the warmth of it penetrating the thin material of her button-up shirt.

She gave a soft moan at the touch, and at the sound, his hand stretched across to grasp her hip and then they were pulling and rolling and shuffling, and his arm became her pillow, and she was folded into his warm embrace as she pulled the covers over them. And once they had settled, their legs entwined, his arms around her, her hand on his chest, his breath warm on her forehead, her nose in the curve of his neck, filling with the smell of sweat and alcohol and dust and copper and _Phil_, she closed her eyes and relaxed into him.

"Hey, Chuckles." His chest rumbled beneath her hand as he whispered, his voice thick with sleep.

"Hey," she breathed, not opening her eyes.

"You doin' okay?"

She let out a long breath before she answered. "Doug got married."

"Yep."

"Hmm."

She was distracted a moment by his fingers as they trailed across her back. "Where did you scamper off to?" he asked.

"Bar."

He made a thoughtful sound. "I looked for you."

"Hmm," she hummed in lieu of acknowledgement or apology, and burrowed herself further into his arms, which tightened around her. "Had a chat with Sid."

"Yeah?"

"Hmm. He bought my house. Says I can live in it forever, no bills or mortgage."

"Damn," he laughed in wonder. "That was awfully generous of him."

"Hmm."

"Good news for me, huh?" he said, softly, less sure.

She didn't hum in acknowledgement, just let it hang above them as her fingers fiddled with a button on his shirt, her eyes closed though her heartbeat skipped in her chest. He cleared his throat, loosening his grip, apparently wanting to pull back and look at her, but she pressed against him, frowning until he gave a breathy laugh and gathered her up again.

"You still wanna do this thing?" he asked her, his voice rough and quiet. "With us and… and being together?"

With a long, soft sigh, Will's hand pressed against the smooth cotton of his shirt and slid up to cup his jaw. Raising her head, her eyes still closed, her lips sought his in the darkness and she kissed him softly, sweetly, her thumb tracing the line of his stubbled jaw, feeling the cool tip of his nose on her cheek, his fingers still on her back.

She pulled away, listening to his soft gasps, her hand falling back to his chest to feel his heart pounding beneath her hand as she lowered her head to his shoulder and pressed a small kiss to the curve of his throat, feeling his pulse beneath her lips as his biceps flexed and she was held almost as closely as two people could be.

"We'll figure it out in the morning," she whispered.

"I love you, Chuckles."

"Hmm."


	15. Leap of Faith

"Alright, I think that's it."

"You sure?"

"Yeah."

"Alright, but you know, whatever you leave behind automatically becomes mine."

Uncertainty filled Doug's eyes as he carefully placed the cardboard box in his arms atop the pile of boxes on the front lawn. Will smiled toothily from the front porch, leaning lazily against a white wood column, a half-empty beer in one hand. Her brother's eyes narrowed, flickering between her and the open front door. "Uh, I'll just do another lap. Just to make sure."

"You do that," she laughed as he hurried up the stairs, shaking his head at her.

Taking a drink from the near-empty bottle, Will watched the removalists, with their blue shirts and their thick arms, carry boxes and furniture off the truck, only to replace them with Doug's surprising amount of boxes. The sun shone brightly above, white clouds spattering the blue sky.

"How could one little man have so much crap?"

She turned at Phil's voice, smiling as she took the cold bottle of beer he offered, putting aside her empty one as he came to stand at her side, taking a swig of his own drink as they looked at the chaos that was her front yard, overflowing with boxes, bags and furniture.

"Says you," she laughed, gesturing toward the enormous pile of garbage bags, cardboard and plastic boxes on one side of the lawn, all his, slowly being moved inside by two more removalists.

He chuckled, "Those guys must be like, Tetris masters. Couldn't believe they got it all in. Only had to make one trip."

"Did the realtor get back to you?"

"Yeah. That couple with the kid wants to come by next week, take another look. Seemed pretty hopeful about it."

Will nodded, taking a cool drink of beer, feeling a little overwhelmed. Then Phil's arm wound around her waist, his hand heavy on her hip, and she leaned into him and sighed, and they stood there in silence and watched the messy upheaval of their lives and though it was terrifying and new, and her mind had kindly supplied her with a large variety of potential disasters, she knew it was right. Doug was moving out, going to live in his new home with Tracy, and Phil was moving in.

It was enough to know that she wasn't going to be alone. It was so much more that it was Phil who would be living with her. Permanently, at least as far as they knew. The mere thought of it made her feel light-headed and giddy. She tried not to think of how it had been her dream for so many years; that this right here, with the moving van and the boxes and his arm around her on a bright sunny day, with a beer in their hands, had been more or less exactly what she wanted. The start of their lives together.

It had been a long time coming. And she was still finding it hard to believe that it was real.

Stu's car pulled up in the driveway and he stepped out, long and lanky, his glasses shining in the sunlight, a smile on his face as he walked up to the house, a mouthful of teeth gleaming white, not a hole to be seen.

"I see you two are hard at work," he called, gesturing at the lawn, moving aside to let two workmen pass, carting boxes into the house.

"Sore back," Phil said, wincing dramatically and rolling his shoulder.

"Hurt my finger," Will smiled, raising her pinkie from the bottle in her hand and wiggling it around as Stu rolled his eyes. "What you doing here?"

He stopped at the bottom of the porch stairs, squinting in the sunlight, one hand on his hip as he shrugged. "Well, I was coming to help, but—"

"Is that Stu?"

"Hey, Doug. How's it going?" He gestured toward his face. "Burns are looking less, you know, burnt."

Doug gave him a dry look, moving out of the house, hands empty. "Thanks. Hey, what day you heading back to Vegas to see Jade?"

Stu scratched his head, "Uh, she's actually coming here."

Will perked up, "Where's she gonna stay?"

"Uh, with me," Stu said, a hint of a blush rising to his cheeks.

"At the hotel?" Phil asked, a brow raised and a smirk on his lips.

"Yeah," Stu said. "Until I get the house sorted and all my stuff moved out…"

"I thought you did that last week?" Will asked, looking concerned.

"I was supposed to but Melissa's, uh… she's not making it easy."

"Fucking bitch," Phil swore. Will bumped her hip against his, feeling his grip tighten on her waist. Their eyes met and they shook their heads in mutual disgust.

Doug sighed, crossing his arms and leaning on the post nearby. "Yeah, well, no one expected her to take it well."

"Hey, you know, Stu," Phil said, "if you need me and Doug to come with you, I got some friends who know some people who are cops, we'll come help you out so you can get your stuff. Keep Melissa out of your way."

"If it comes to that, yeah, that'd be great," Stu nodded, smiling gratefully. "I'll make sure to give you a call."

"Just give the word."

"So when does Jade get here?" Will asked, redirecting the conversation, legitimately excited to see the woman again. "We should all go out."

"Yeah," Doug nodded. "And I'd like to properly meet the Mrs Stuart Price."

Flushing just a little bit darker, Stu gave them a dry look. "She flies in on Tuesday. One of her friends is taking care of Tyler but she has to get back by Sunday."

"That's plenty of time," Will smiled.

"You gonna take her to meet the parents?" Phil smirked.

With a deep breath, Stu shook his head. "We're just gonna take it slow, you know? Get to know each other."

"Good plan," Doug nodded approvingly.

"Excuse us." All moved aside as three moving men carried Phil's leather couch up the stairs and into the house.

"How much more of this is yours?" Stu asked, looking at the lawn.

"Enough of it," Phil shrugged, finishing his beer. "Alright, you said you were here to help, right? So help. Come on, guys. Let's get this shit done."

Will gave a little groan, Stu stretched and Doug sighed, rubbing his arm, but they were happy and chatting as they followed Phil down the stairs to attack the pile of cardboard boxes.

The sun shone above, warming still-healing bruises and cuts as the four carried box after box into the house, dumping it in corners and lining them against the walls, taking the occasional beer break, and all the while talking and laughing like the best friends they always had been and always would be.

Hours past, the sun went down and Doug and Stu left, having stayed for a dinner of pizza and beer, the conversation focussed on finalising plans for Doug and Tracy's home-warming party at their new place the next night. And when it was over, Will and Phil stood on the front porch and waved to the retreating headlights.

Watching her brother drive away, officially moved out, left a terrible, hollow, wrenching feeling in her gut, which immediately ruined her good mood. The realisation that this was also real, that Doug would never live with her again, hit her like a bag of bricks to the stomach. Not wanting to ruin Phil's day, she smiled absently as he chattered excitedly to her from the kitchen, having uncharacteristically volunteered to wash the dishes, while she sat at the dinner table, staring at her empty glass.

A few minutes later, his chatter became irritating, nothing but noise and she stood from the table and went to the stairs, her heart heavy and her throat full as she climbed to the second floor, bare feet padding along the old, ratty carpet that stretched from one end of the corridor to the other. The patterns on this carpet, the colours, were as familiar to her as her own skin. Faint memories of childhood, of crawling across the faded squares, of falling and running and rolling, stepping across it as she and Doug moved from one room to another...

She stopped halfway down the corridor. On her right was her room, and on the left was Doug's. It had always been his. And now it was empty of all but his chest of drawers, his bed and his old desk. But all else was bare of anything that made it Doug's.

And she didn't want to shut the door. Looking down the hall, the last door at the very end, she saw the closed door of her parents' room. They hadn't opened it since their parents died, and she had no intention of doing so anytime soon. But she knew Phil wouldn't like that. He'd respect that she'd prefer it closed and untouched, but he sure wouldn't like having a room unused and untouched. A shrine to people long-dead.

He'd push her to confront it, she knew he would. And though she and Doug had not thought twice about moving Phil's things into the guest room across from the upstairs bathroom, she knew he'd likely want to use Doug's room as a study or some such thing. But it was so tempting to just shut the door and try and forget about the empty room behind it. Standing still in the hallway, she stared at the doorhandle, contemplating closing the door, just for that night. She didn't hear Phil come up the stairs behind her or walk to her side before his hand was on her back and she was startled into turning to find his blue eyes shining at her.

For a long moment, she just looked at him and wondered how the hell this was going to work. She was so messed up. How could he think he could have the patience to deal with her? Why would he want to go to the effort?

"Are you okay?" he asked.

She nodded, but he didn't believe her.

Later that night, they said goodnight and went into their separate rooms and their separate beds. For almost an hour, Will tossed and turned, staring at the wall, and then the roof. Her mind was full of Doug's leaving, and the empty room, and the boxes that had to be unpacked and the furniture that had to be re-arranged and the home-warming party at Doug and Tracy's and the fact that Phil Wenneck was currently in her house, sleeping just across the hall, in hisbedroom, because he now had a bedroom in her house, which was really _their _house.

"Oh my god," she groaned, rubbing her eyes, throwing off the blankets and swinging her legs over the side of the bed. She padded across her bedroom and slowly opened the door, listening to it creak as it always did, and she peered down the darkened hallway at the dark outline of Phil's bedroom door.

Moving out of her room, she snuck across the carpeted corridor and hesitated only a moment at that door before she cracked it open and slipped inside. Nearly tripping over the bags and boxes Phil had apparently decided to just leave strewn all over the floor, she made it mostly quietly to the bed. In the darkness, she could see Phil's sleeping form, lying on his side on the far side of the queen-sized bed, and on her side, closest to the door, she saw that the covers had been folded back, almost invitingly. She slowly slipped between the cool sheets, heart fluttering in her chest as she pulled the covers over her.

As she reached up to adjust the pillow, a warm, large arm slipped suddenly beneath her back, while another slid across the rise of her belly and wrapped around her side. Her breath caught in her chest as Phil's head settled onto her shoulder, his thick, soft hair tickling her cheek as he nuzzled her neck and hugged her like his own personal teddy-bear.

"Was wondering how long it'd take you," he mumbled.

A strange sound of surprise escaped her lips, the air deflating from her lungs as she relaxed beneath him. "What do you mean, 'how long it'd take me'?" she huffed.

"Come on, Chuckles," he grinned. "You. Me. Alone. No way you could resist."

A wave of irritation gave way to exasperated fondness. "Asshole," she grumbled, winding her arms around him and holding him close, resting her cheek on the top of his head.

She could have sworn that he was purring, he seemed so self-satisfied and content. With a sigh, Will realised that he was shirtless. And pantless. Her hands roamed across the rises and falls and the strong planes of his shoulders and back of their own accord, feeling his heat and his breath and his very being so big and alive beneath her hands.

He groaned at her touch, pressing his sharp nose against the soft curve of her throat, his biceps flexing.

"You tryin' to seduce me, Chuckles?"

She blinked, "I'm not doing anything."

He chuckled lowly, raising his head. "Sweetheart, you have no idea what you do to me, do you?"

The low rumble of his voice reverberated through her, settling at last in a pool of molten heat within her. She licked her lips, thankful that he couldn't see her blush in the dark. She supposed she could leave it with a laugh and a roll of her eyes, maybe a kiss on his head, and then they could go to sleep. But was that the reason she had crawled into her husband's bed? Is that why she couldn't sleep at the thought of him being just across the hall? Finally so close that it felt impossible and such a waste to not take full advantage?

"Maybe not," she said with a slow smile. "But you know, I have an idea of what I _could_ do to you."

"Ooh," he grinned. "I like the sound of that."

"Hmm." She chuckled, feeling his hands smooth across her body, taking hold of her knee and sliding it up his leg to his hip as he rolled atop her, his hips settling against hers. "I bet you do."

It was warm beneath him, with their heated breaths and his powerful masculine body and the layers of covers over them, but it wasn't oppressive or stifling. As she slid her hands over his shoulders, and as he hovered above her, looking down at her with those sparkling baby blue eyes full of all the love and adoration a woman could ever hope for, all that she could think was how perfect it was; how perfect he was, how perfect they were.

"Are you okay?" he asked.

She thought about everything that she'd been through, that they'd been through. It was hard to believe it was more than a story, but it had. And it was _their _story. And no doubt they would go through a great deal more before their story ended. But she wasn't scared anymore. She didn't have to go through it alone. She had her friends. She had her brother. She had her new family. She had Phil. She didn't have to _be _alone. Not anymore. Doug's door would stay open. Phil would stay with her. She would trust again. And maybe, just maybe, they could make this work.

"I am now," she said.

And she took that final leap, pulling him close, their breaths mingling, their noses touching, their bodies entwined.

"I love you," she whispered.

Her husband's grin lit up the world. "'Bout damn time."

Then they came together, making up for the lost time, the lost memories, soothing the pain and promising so much more than words could say. They fell asleep where they belonged, in each other's arms.

And as for what came next?

Well, they would figure it out. Together.

/

END.


End file.
